UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


A    FOREST    HEARTH 


A  Forest  Hearth 

A   ROMANCE    OF    INDIANA 
IN    THE    THIRTIES 


BY 


CHARLES  JVIAJOR 

AUTHOR   OF   "  DOROTHY   VERNON   OF   HADDON    HALL,"    "  THE 

BEARS  OF  BLUE   RIVER,"   "WHEN   KNIGHTHOOD  WAS 

IN   FLOWER,"   ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  CLYDE    O.  DELAND 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON  :   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1903 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up,  electrotyped,  and  published  October,  1903. 


Wortooott 

J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH 11 

II.    THE  BACHELOR  HEART 

III.  THE  SYCAMORE  DIVAN 

IV.  THE  DEBUTANTE 

V.  UNDER  THE  ELM  CANOPY 

VI.  THE  FIGHT  BY  THE  RIVER  SIDE 

VII.  THE  TRIAL 

VIII.  A  CHRISTMAS  HEARTH  LOG 

IX.    Die  LENDS  MONEY  GRATIS 

X.    THE  TOURNAMENT 

XI.  A  Kiss  AND  A  DUEL  .  

XII.  THE  LOVE  POWDER 

XIII.  THE  DIMPLER 

XIV.  WISE  Miss  TOUSY 

XV.  THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


f?'  •-$  ln  t"->r>  /s 
O'staf   *'O-A 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  He  produced  a  small  gold  watch  with  the  word  <  Rita '  engraved 
upon  the  case  "......       Frontispiece 

"  She  changed  it  many  times "      .         .         .         .         .         .  31 

"  She  flung  at  the  worthy  shepherd  the  opprobrious  words,  '  You 

fool'" 81 

"  '  I've  come  to  get  my  kiss,'  said  Doug" 121 

<; Covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  began  to  weep"       .         .     191 
"  '  Kill  him,  Die ;  kill  him  as  you  would  a  wolf  "...     255 

"  Miss  Tousy  softly  kissed  her  and  said,  .   .  .  '  There,  don't  cry, 

sweet  one '"  .........     315 

"  •  Here,'  replied  the  girl " 349 


ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH 


A   Forest   Hearth 

CHAPTER   I 
ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH 

A  STRENUOUS  sense  of  justice  is  the  most  disturb 
ing  of  all  virtues,  and  those  persons  in  whom  it 
predominates  are  usually  as  disagreeable  as  they 
are  good.  Any  one  who  assumes  the  high  plane  of  "justice 
to  all,  and  confusion  to  sinners,"  may  easily  gain  a  reputa 
tion  for  goodness  simply  by  doing  nothing  bad.  Look  wise 
and  heavenward,  frown  severely  but  regretfully  upon 
others'  faults,  and  the  world  will  whisper,  "  Ah,  how  good 
he  is!"  And  you  will  be  good  —  as  the  sinless,  prickly 
pear.  If  the  virtues  of  omission  constitute  saintship,  and 
from  a  study  of  the  calendar  one  might  so  conclude,  seek 
your  corona  by  the  way  of  justice.  For  myself,  I  would 
rather  be  a  layman  with  a  few  active  virtues  and  a  small 
sin  or  two,  than  a  sternly  just  saint  without  a  fault.  Breed 
virtue  in  others  by  giving  them  something  to  forgive. 
Conceive,  if  you  can,  the  unutterable  horror  of  life  in  this 
world  without  a  few  blessed  human  faults.  He  who  sins 
not  at  all,  cannot  easily  find  reason  to  forgive ;  and  to  for 
give  those  who  trespass  against  us,  is  one  of  the  sweetest 
benedictions  of  life.  I  have  known  many  persons  who 
built  their  moral  structure  upon  the  single  rock  of  justice; 
but  they  all  bred  wretchedness  among  those  who  loved 
them,  and  made  life  harder  because  they  did  not  die  young. 

B  I3 


i4  A   F.OREST   HEARTH 

One  woman  of  that  sort,  I  knew,  —  Mrs.  Margarita  Bays. 
To  her  face,  or  in  the  presence  of  those  who  might  repeat 
my  words,  I  of  course  called  her  "  Mrs.  Bays  "  ;  but  when 
I  felt  safe  in  so  doing,  I  called  her  the  "  Chief  Justice  "  — 
a  title  conferred  by  my  friend,  Billy  Little.  Later  happen 
ings  in  her  life  caused  Little  to  christen  her  "  my  Lady 
Jeffreys,"  a  sobriquet  bestowed  upon  her  because  of  the 
manner  in  which  she  treated  her  daughter,  whose  name 
was  also  Margarita. 

The  daughter,  because  she  was  as  sweet  as  the  wild  rose, 
and  as  gentle  as  the  soft  spring  sun,  received  from  her 
friends  the  affectionate  diminutive  of  Rita.  And  so  I 
shall  name  her  in  this  history. 

Had  not  Rita  been  so  gentle,  yielding,  and  submissive, 
or  had  her  father,  Tom  Bays,' — husband  to  the  Chief 
Justice,  —  been  more  combative  and  less  amenable  to  the 
corroding  influences  of  henpeck,  I  doubt  if  Madam  Bays 
would  ever  have  attained  a  dignity  beyond  that  of  "Asso 
ciate  Justice."  That  strong  sense  of  domineering  virtue 
which  belongs  to  the  truly  just  must  be  fed,  and  it  waxes  fat 
on  an  easy-going  husband  and  a  loving,  tender  daughter. 

In  the  Bays  home,  the  mother's  righteous  sense  of  justice 
and  duty,  which  applied  itself  relentlessly  upon  husband 
and  daughter,  became  the  weakest  sort  of  indulgence  when 
dealing  with  the  only  son  and  heir.  Without  being  vicious, 
Tom,  Jr.,  was  what  the  negroes  called  "  jes'  clean  triflin'," 
and  dominated  his  mother  with  an  inherited  club  of  inborn 
selfishness.  Before  Tom's  selfishness,  Justice  threw  away 
her  scales  and  became  maudlin  sentiment. 

I  have  been  intimately  acquainted  with  the  Bays  family 
ever  since  they  came  to  Blue  River  settlement  from  North 
Carolina,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  story  of  the  sweet 
est,  gentlest  nature  God  has  ever  given  me  to  know  — 
Rita  Bays.  I  warn  you  there  will  be  no  heroics  in  this 
history,  no  palaces,  no  grand  people  —  nothing  but  human 


ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH  15 

nature,  the  forests,  and  a  few  very  simple  country  folk 
indeed. 

Rita  was  a  babe  in  arms  when  her  father,  her  mother, 
and  her  six-year-old  brother  Tom  moved  from  North  Caro 
lina  in  two  great  "  schooner  "  wagons,  and  in  the  year  '20 
or  '21  settled  upon  Blue  River,  near  the  centre  of  a  wilder 
ness  that  had  just  been  christened  "  Indiana." 

The  father  of  Tom  Bays  had  been  a  North  Carolina 
planter  of  considerable  wealth  and  culture ;  but  when  the 
old  gentleman  died  there  were  eight  sons  and  two  daugh 
ters  among  whom  his  estate  was  to  be  divided,  and  some 
of  them  had  to  choose  between  moving  west  and  facing 
the  terrors  of  battle  with  nature  in  the  wilderness,  and 
remaining  in  North  Carolina  to  become  "  poor  white  trash." 
Tom  Bays,  Sr.,  had  married  Margarita,  daughter  of  a  pomp 
ous  North  Carolinian,  Judge  Anselm  Fisher.  Whether 
he  was  a  real  judge,  or  simply  a  "  Kentucky  judge,"  I  can 
not  say;  but  he  was  a  man  of  good  standing,  and  his 
daughter  was  not  the  woman  to  endure  the  loss  of  caste  at 
home.  If  compelled  to  step  down  from  the  social  position 
into  which  she  had  been  born,  the  step  must  be  taken 
among  strangers,  that  part  at  least  of  her  humiliation  might 
be  avoided. 

With  a  heart  full  of  sorrow  and  determination,  Madam 
Bays,  who  even  then  had  begun  to  manifest  rare  genius 
for  leadership,  loaded  two  "  schooners "  with  her  house 
hold  goods,  her  husband,  her  son,  and  her  daughter,  and 
started  northwest  with  the  laudable  purpose  of  losing  her 
self  in  the  wilderness.  They  carried  with  them  their  in 
heritance,  a  small  bag  of  gold,  and  with  it  they  purchased 
from  the  government  a  quarter-section  —  one  hundred  and 
sixty  acres  —  of  land,  at  five  shillings  per  acre.  The  land 
on  Blue  was  as  rich  and  fertile  as  any  the  world  could  fur 
nish  ;  but  for  miles  upon  miles  it  was  covered  with  black 
forests,  almost  impenetrable  to  man,  and  was  infested  by 


,6  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

wild  beasts  and  Indians.  Here  madam  and  her  husband 
began  their  long  battle  with  the  hardest  of  foes  — nature; 
and  that  battle,  the  terrors  of  which  no  one  can  know  who 
has  not  fought  it,  doubtless  did  much  to  harden  the  small 
portion  of  human  tenderness  with  which  God  had  originally 
endowed  her.  They  built  their  log-cabin  on  the  east  bank 
of  Blue  River,  one  mile  north  of  the  town  of  the  same 
name.  The  river  was  spoken  of  simply  as  Blue. 

Artistic  beauty  is  not  usually  considered  an  attribute  of 
log-cabins ;  but  I  can  testify  to  the  beauty  of  many  that 
stood  upon  the  banks  of  Blue, —  among  them  the  house 
of  Bays.  The  main  building  consisted  of  two  ground- 
floor  rooms,  each  with  a  front  door  and  a  half-story  room 
above.  A  clapboard-covered  porch  extended  across  the 
entire  front  of  the  house,  which  faced  westward  toward 
Blue.  Back  of  the  main  building  was  a  one-story  kitchen, 
and  adjoining  each  ground-floor  room  was  a  huge  chimney, 
built  of  small  logs  four  to  six  inches  in  diameter.  These 
chimneys,  thickly  plastered  on  the  inside  with  clay,  were 
built  with  a  large  opening  at  the  top,  and  widened  down 
ward  to  the  fireplace,  which  was  eight  or  ten  feet  square, 
and  nearly  as  high  as  the  low  ceiling  of  the  room.  The 
purpose  of  these  generous  dimensions  was  to  prevent  the 
wooden  chimney  from  burning.  The  fire,  while  the  chim 
ney  was  new,  was  built  in  the  centre  of  the  enormous 
hearth  that  the  flames  might  not  touch  the  walls,  but  after 
a  time  the  heat  burnt  the  clay  to  the  hardness  of  brick, 
and  the  fire  was  then  built  against  the  back  wall.  By 
pointing  up  the  cracks,  and  adding  a  coat  of  clay  now 
and  then,  the  walls  soon  became  entirely  fireproof,  and  a 
fire  might  safely  be  kindled  that  would  defy  Boreas  in  his 
bitterest  zero  mood.  An  open  wood  fire  is  always  cheer 
ing;  so  our  humble  folk  of  the  wilderness,  having  little 
else  to  cheer  them  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  were 
mindful  to  be  prodigal  in  the  matter  of  fuel,  and  often 


ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH  17 

burned  a  cord  of  wood  between  candle-light  and  bedtime 
on  one  of  their  enormous  hearths.  A  cord  of  wood  is  bet 
ter  than  a  play  for  cheerfulness,  and  a  six-foot  backlog  will 
make  more  mirth  than  Dan  Rice  himself  ever  created. 
Economy  did  not  enter  into  the  question,  for  wood  was 
nature's  chief  weapon  against  her  enemies,  the  settlers  ;  and 
the  question  was  not  how  to  save,  but  how  to  burn  it. 

To  this  place  Rita  first  opened  the  eyes  of  her  mind. 
The  girl's  earliest  memories  were  of  the  cozy  log-cabin 
upon  the  banks  of  the  limpid,  gurgling  creek.  Green  in 
her  memory,  in  each  sense  of  the  word,  was  the  soft  blue- 
grass  lawn,  that  sloped  gently  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
cabin,  built  upon  a  little  rise  in  the  bottom  land,  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  Often  when  she  was  a  child,  and  I  a 
man  well  toward  middle  life,  did  I  play  with  the  enchanting 
little  elf  upon  the  blue-grass  lawn,  and  drink  the  waters 
of  perennial  youth  at  the  fountain  of  her  sweet  babyhood. 
Vividly  I  remember  the  white-skinned  sycamores,  the 
gracefully  drooping  elms,  and  the  sweet-scented  honey- 
locust  that  grew  about  the  cabin  and  embowered  it  in 
leafy  glory.  Even  at  this  long  distance  of  time,  when 
June  is  abroad,  if  I  catch  the  odor  of  locust  blossoms,  my 
mind  and  heart  travel  back  on  the  wings  of  a  moment, 
and  I  hear  the  buzzing  of  the  wild  bees,  the  song  of  the 
meadow-lark,  the  whistle  of  bob-white,  and  the  gurgling  of 
the  creek  —  all  blended  into  one  sweet  refrain  like  the 
mingling  tones  of  a  perfect  orchestra  by  the  soft-voiced 
babble  of  my  wee  girl-baby  friend.  I  close  my  eyes,  and 
see  the  house  amid  the  hollyhocks  and  trees,  a  thin  line  of 
blue  smoke  curling  lazily  from  the  kitchen  chimney  and 
floating  away  over  the  deep,  black  forest  to  the  north  and 
east.  I  see  the  maples  languidly  turning  the  white  side  of 
their  leaves  to  catch  the  south  wind's  balmy  breath,  and  I 
see  by  my  side  a  fate-charged,  tiny  tot,  dabbling  in  the 
water,  mocking  the  songs  of  the  birds,  and  ever  turning  her 


jg  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

face,  with  its  great  brown  wistful  eyes,  to  catch  the  breath 
of  destiny  and  to  hear  the  sad  dread  hum  of  the  future. 
But  my  old  chum  Billy  Little  was  the  child's  especial  friend. 

In  those  good  times  there  was  another  child,  a  boy, 
Diccon  Bright,  who  often  came  down  from  his  cabin  home 
a  mile  up  river  to  play  with  Rita  on  the  blue-grass  lawn  in 
summer,  or  to  sit  with  her  on  the  hearth  log  in  winter.  In 
cold  weather  the  hearth  log  was  kept  on  one  side  of  the 
hearth,  well  within  the  fireplace  itself,  ready  for  use  when 
needed.  It  gloried  in  three  names,  all  of  which  were 
redolent  of  home.  It  was  called  the  "  hearth  log  "  be 
cause  it  was  kept  upon  the  hearth ;  the  "  waiting  log " 
because  it  was  waiting  to  take  the  place  of  the  log  that 
was  burning,  and  the  "  ciphering  log  "  because  the  chil 
dren  sat  upon  it  in  the  evening  firelight  to  do  their  "ciph 
ering" —  a  general  term  used  to  designate  any  sort  of 
preparation  for  the  morrow's  lesson.  In  those  times  arith 
metic  was  the  chief  study,  and  from  it  the  acquisition  of 
all  branches  of  knowledge  took  the  name  of  ciphering. 

Diccon  —  where  on  earth  his  parents  got  the  name,  I 
cannot  tell  —  was  four  or  five  years  older  than  Rita.  He 
was  a  manly  boy,  and  when  my  little  friend  could  hardly 
lisp  his  name  she  would  run  to  him  with  the  unerring 
instinct  of  childhood  and  nestle  in  his  arms  or  cling  to  his 
helpful  finger.  The  little  fellow  was  so  sturdy,  strong,  and 
brave,  and  his  dark  gray  eyes  were  so  steadfast  and  true, 
that  she  feared  no  evil  from  him,  though  ordinarily  she 
was  a  timid  child.  She  would  sit  by  him  on  the  ciphering 
log  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  and  the  boy,  the  girl, 
and  the  fire  were  the  best  of  friends,  and  had  glorious  times 
together  on  the  heart  of  the  cheery  hearth.  The  north 
wind  might  blow,  the  snow  might  snow,  and  the  cold  might 
freeze,  Rita,  Die,  and  the  fire  cared  not  a  straw. 

[  want  no  better  mirror,  my  little   sweetheart,"   he 
would  say,  "  than  your  brown  eyes ;  no  prettier  color  than 


ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH  19 

your  rosy  cheeks  and  glossy  black  hair,  and  no  truer  friend 
than  your  loving  little  heart."  And  the  fire  crackled  its 
entire  approval. 

"  Very  well,  Die,"  she  would  reply,  laughing  with 
delight,  "  if  you  really  want  them,  you  may  have  them  ; 
they  are  all  yours."  And  the  fire  smiled  rosily,  beaming 
its  benediction. 

"But  what  will  your  father  and  mother  say  and  Torn?" 
asked  Die. 

"  We'll  not  tell  them,"  replied  this  tiny  piece  of  Eve ; 
and  the  fire  almost  choked  itself  with  spluttering  laughter. 
So,  with  the  fire  as  a  witness,  the  compact  was  made  and 
remade  many  times,  until  she  thought  she  belonged  to  Die 
and  gloried  in  her  little  heart  because  of  it. 

Diccon  and  Rita's  brother,  Tom,  even  during  their  early 
childhood,  when  they  were  hardly  half  so  tall  as  the  guns 
they  carried,  were  companion  knights  in  the  great  wars 
waged  by  the  settlers  against  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forests, 
and  many  a  bear,  wolf,  wildcat,  and  deer  fell  before  the 
prowess  of  small  Sir  Diccon  la  Valorous  and  little  Sir 
Thomas  de  Triflin'.  Out  of  their  slaughter  grew  friend 
ship,  and  for  many  years  Sir  Thomas  was  a  frequent  guest 
upon  the  ciphering  log  of  Sir  Diccon,  and  Sir  Diccon 
spent  many  winter  evenings  on  the  hearth  at  Castle  Bays. 

As  the  long  years  of  childhood  passed,  Die  began  to 
visit  the  Bays  home  more  frequently  than  Tom  visited  the 
Brights'.  I  do  not  know  whether  this  change  was  owing  to 
the  increasing  age  of  the  boys,  or — but  Rita  was  growing 
older  and  prettier  every  day,  and  you  know  that  may  have 
had  something  to  do  with  Die's  visits. 

Die  had  another  boy  friend  —  an  old  boy,  of  thirty-five 
or  more  —  whose  name  was  William  Little.  He  was 
known  generally  as  Billy  Little,  and  it  pleased  the  little 
fellow  to  be  so  called,  "  Because,"  said  he,  "  persons  give 
the  diminutive  to  fools  and  those  whom  they  love;  and  I 


20  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

know  I  am  not  a  fool."  The  sweetest  words  in  the  German 
language  are  their  home  diminutives.  It  is  difficult  to  love 
a  man  whom  one  must  call  Thomas.  Tom,  Jack,  and  Billy 
are  the  chaps  who  come  near  to  us. 

Billy  was  an  old  bachelor  and  an  Englishman.  His 
family  had  intended  him  for  the  church,  and  he  was  edu 
cated  at  Trinity  with  that  end  in  view.  Although  not  an 
irreligious  man,  he  had  views  on  religion  that  were  far 
from  orthodox. 

"  I  found  it  impossible,"  he  once  remarked,  "  to  induce 
the  church  to  change  its  views,  and  equally  impossible  to 
change  my  own ;  so  the  church  and  I,  each  being  unrea 
sonably  stubborn,  agreed  to  disagree,  and  I  threw  over  the 
whole  affair,  quarrelled  with  my  family,  was  in  turn  throv/n 
over  by  them,  and  here  I  am,  in  the  wilderness,  very  much 
pleased." 

He  lived  in  the  little  town  of  Blue  River,  and  was  justice 
of  the  peace,  postmaster,  storekeeper,  and  occasionally 
school-teacher.  He  was  small  in  stature,  with  a  tendency 
to  become  rotund  as  he  grew  older.  He  took  pride  in  his 
dress  and  was  as  cleanly  as  an  Englishman.  He  was  rea 
sonably  willing  to  do  the  duty  that  confronted  him,  and 
loved  but  three  forms  of  recreation,  —  to  be  with  his  two 
most  intimate  friends,  Rita  and  Die,  to  wander  in  the  track 
less  forests,  and  to  play  upon  his  piano.  His  piano  was  his 
sweetheart,  and  often  in  the  warm  summer  evenings,  when 
his  neighbors  were  in  bed,  would  the  strains  of  his  music 
lull  them  to  sleep,  and  float  out  into  the  surrounding  for 
ests,  awakening  the  whippoorwill  to  heart-rending  cries  of 
anguish  that  would  give  a  man  the  "blues  "  for  a  month. 
I  believe  many  ignorant  persons  thought  that  Billy  was  not 
exactly  "right  in  the  top,"  as  they  put  it,  because  he  would 
often  wander  through  the  forests,  night  or  day,  singing  to 
himself,  talking  to  the  trees  and  birds,  and  clasping  to  his 
soul  fair  nature  in  her  virgin  strength  and  sweetness.  He 


ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH  21 

often  communed  with  himself  after  this  fashion  :  "  I  am  a 
fortunate  man  in  the  things  I  love,  for  I  have  them  to  my 
heart's  content  Rita  and  Die  are  children.  I  give  them 
knowledge.  They  give  me  youth.  I  touch  my  piano.  It 
fills  my  soul  with  peace.  If  it  gives  me  a  discordant  note, 
the  fault  is  mine.  I  go  to  the  forest,  and  sweet  Nature 
takes  me  in  her  arms  and  lulls  me  to  ecstasy." 

Billy  Little  and  I  had  been  college  chums,  and  had  emi 
grated  on  the  same  ship.  I  studied  law,  entered  the  prac 
tice,  married,  and  have  a  family.  While  my  wife  and  family 
did  not  mar  the  friendship  between  Little  and  myself,  it 
prevented  frequency  of  intercourse,  for  a  wife  and  family 
are  great  absorbents.  However,  he  and  I  remained 
friends,  and  from  him  I  have  most  of  the  facts  constituting 
this  story. 

This  friend  of  Die's  was  a  great  help  to  the  boy  intel 
lectually,  and  at  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  when 
other  boys  considered  their  education  complete  if  they 
could  spell  phthisis  and  Constantinople,  our  hero  was 
reading  Virgil  and  Shakespeare,  and  was  learning  to 
think  for  himself.  The  knowledge  obtained  from  Billy 
Little  the  boy  tried  to  impart  to  Rita.  Tom  held  learning 
and  books  to  be  effeminate*  and  wasteful  of  time ;  but  Rita 
drank  in  Die's  teaching,  with  now  and  then  a  helpful 
draught  from  Billy  Little,  and  the  result  soon  began  to 
show  upon  the  girl. 

Thus  it  was  that  Die  often  went  to  see  Tom,  but  talked 
to  Tom's  sister.  Many  an  evening,  long  after  Tom  had 
unceremoniously  climbed  the  rude  stairway  to  bed,  would 
the  brown-eyed  maid,  with  her  quaint,  wistful  touch  of 
womanhood,  sit  beside  Die  on  the  ciphering  log  inside  the 
fireplace,  listening  to  him  read  from  one  of  Billy  Little's 
books,  watching  him  trace  continents,  rivers,  and  moun 
tains  on  a  map,  or  helping  him  to  cipher  a  complicated 
problem  in  arithmetic.  The  girl  by  no  means  understood 


22  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

all  that  Die  read,  but  she  tried,  and  even  though  she  failed, 
she  would  clasp  her  hands  and  say,  "  Isn't  it  grand,  Die  ?  " 
And  it  was  grand  to  her  because  Die  read  it. 

Lamps  were  unknown  to  our  simple  folk,  so  the  light  of 
the  fireplace  was  all  they  had  to  read  by.  It  was,  there 
fore,  no  uncommon  sight  in  those  early  cabin  homes  to 
see  the  whole  family  sitting  upon  the  broad  hearth,  shad 
ing  their  eyes  with  their  hands,  while  some  one  —  fre 
quently  the  local  school-teacher  —  sat  upon  the  hearth  log 
and  read  by  the  fire  that  furnished  both  light  and  heat. 
This  reading  was  frequently  Die's  task  in  the  Bays  home. 

One  who  has  seen  a  large  family  thus  gathered  upon 
the  spacious  hearth  will  easily  understand  the  love  for  it 
that  ages  ago  sprang  up  in  the  hearts  of  men  and  crickets. 
At  no  place  in  all  the  earth,  and  at  no  time  in  all  its  his 
tory,  has  the  hearth  done  more  in  moulding  human  character 
than  it  did  in  the  wilderness  on  the  north  side  of  the  lower 
Ohio  when  the  men  who  felled  the  forest  and  conquered 
nature  offered  their  humble  devotions  on  its  homely  altar. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Die  and  Rita  grew  up  together 
on  the  heart  of  the  hearth;  and  what  wonder  that  their 
own  hearts  were  welded  by  the  warmth  and  light  of  its 
cheery  god.  Thus  the  boy  grew  to  manhood  and  the  girl 
to  maidenhood,  then  to  young  womanhood,  at  which  time, 
of  course,  her  troubles  began. 

Chief  among  the  earlier  troubles  of  our  little  maid  was  a 
growing  tenderness  for  Die.  Of  that  trouble  she  was  not 
for  many  months  aware.  She  was  unable  to  distinguish 
between  the  affection  she  had  always  given  him  and  the 
warming  tenderness  she  was  beginning  to  feel,  save  in  her 
disinclination  to  make  it  manifest.  When  with  him  she 
was  under  a  constraint  as  inexplicable  to  her  as  it  was 
annoying.  It  brought  grief  to  her  tender  heart,  since  it 
led  her  into  little  acts  of  rudeness  or  neglect,  which  in  turn 
always  led  to  tears.  She  often  blamed  Die  for  the  altered 


ON  THE  HEART  OF  THE  HEARTH  23 

condition,  though  it  was  all  owing  to  the  change  in  herself. 
There  was  no  change  in  him.  He  sought  the  girl's  society 
as  frankly  as  when  they  were  children,  though  at  the  time 
of  which  I  write  he  had  made  no  effort  to  "  keep  company  " 
with  her.  She,  at  fifteen,  believing  herself  to  be  a  young 
lady,  really  wished  for  the  advances  she  feared.  Sukey 
Yates,  who  was  only  fourteen,  had  "  company  "  every  Sun 
day  evening,  and  went  to  all  the  social  frolics  for  miles 
around.  Polly  Raster,  not  sixteen,  was  soon  to  be  married 
to  Bantam  Rhodes.  Many  young  men  had  looked  long 
ingly  upon  Rita,  who  was  the  most  beautiful  girl  on  Blue ; 
but  the  Chief  Justice,  with  her  daughter's  hearty  approval, 
drove  all  suitors  away.  The  girl  was  wholly  satisfied  with 
Die,  who  was  "  less  than  kin,"  but  very  much  "more  than 
kind."  He  came  to  see  the  family,  herself  included;  but 
when  he  went  out  to  social  functions,  church  socials,  corn- 
huskings,  and  dances  he  took  Sukey  Yates,  or  some  other 
girl,  and  upon  such  evenings  our  own  little  maiden  went  to 
bed  dissatisfied  with  the  world  at  large,  and  herself  in  par 
ticular.  Of  course,  she  would  not  have  gone  to  dances, 
even  with  Die.  She  had  regard  for  the  salvation  of  her 
soul,  and  the  Chief  Justice,  in  whom  the  girl  had  unques 
tioning  faith,  held  dancing  to  be  the  devil's  chief  instru 
ment  of  damnation.  Even  the  church  socials  were  not 
suitable  for  young  girls,  as  you  will  agree  if  you  read  far 
ther  ;  and  Mrs.  Margarita,  with  a  sense  of  propriety  inher 
ited  from  better  days,  tried  to  hold  her  daughter  aloof 
from  the  country  society,  which  entertained  honest  but 
questionable  views  on  many  subjects. 

Die  paid  his  informal  visit  to  the  Bays  household  in  the 
evenings,  and  at  the  time  of  the  girl's  growing  inclination 
she  would  gaze  longingly  up  the  river  watching  for  him  ; 
while  the  sun,  regretful  to  leave  the  land,  wherein  her  hero 
dwelt,  sank  slowly  westward  to  shine  upon  those  poor 
waste  places  that  knew  no  Diccon.  When  she  would  see 


24  A 

him  coming  she  would  run  away  for  fear  of  herself,  and 
seek  her  room  in  the  loft,  where  she  would  scrub  her  face 
and  hands  in  a  hopeless  effort  to  remove  the  sun-brown. 
Then  she  would  scan  her  face  in  a  mirror,  for  which  Die 
had  paid  two  beautiful  bearskins,  hoping  to  convince  her 
self  that  she  was  not  altogether  hideous. 

"  If  I  could  only  be  half  as  pretty  as  Sukey  Yates,"  she 
often  thought,  little  dreaming  that  Sukey,  although  a  very 
pretty  girl,  was  plain  compared  with  her  own  winsome  self. 

After  the  scrubbing  she  would  take  from  a  little  box  the 
solitary  piece  of  grandeur  she  possessed,  —  a  ribbon  of  fiery 
red,  —  and  with  this  around  her  neck  or  woven  through  the 
waving  floods  of  her  black  hair,  she  felt  she  was  bedecked 
like  a  veritable  queen  of  hearts.  But  the  ribbon  could  not 
remove  all  doubts  of  herself,  and  with  tears  ready  to  start 
from  her  eyes  she  would  stamp  her  foot  and  cry  out :  "  I 
hate  myself.  I  am  an  ugly  fool."  Then  she  would  slowly 
climb  down  the  rude  stairway,  and,  as  we  humble  folk 
would  say,  "take  out  her  spite"  against  herself  on  poor 
Die.  She  was  not  rude  to  him,  but,  despite  her  in 
clination,  she  failed  to  repay  his  friendliness  in  kind  as 
of  yore. 

Tom  took  great  pleasure  in  teasing  her,  and  chuckled 
with  delight  when  his  indulgent  mother  would  tell  her 
visiting  friends  that  he  was  a  great  tease. 

One  evening  when  Rita  had  encountered  more  trouble 
than  usual  with  the  sun-brown,  and  was  more  than  ever 
before  convinced  that  she  was  a  fright  and  a  fool,  she  went 
downstairs,  wearing  her  ribbon,  to  greet  Die,  who  was  sit 
ting  on  the  porch  with  father,  mother,  and  Tom.  When 
she  emerged  from  the  front  door,  Tom,  the  teaser,  said :  — 

"Oh,  just  look  at  her!  She's  put  on  her  ribbon  for 
Die."  Then,  turning  to  Die,  "  She  run  to  her  room  and 
spruced  up  when  she  saw  you  coming." 

Die  laughed  because  it  pleased  him  to  think,  at  least  to 


25 

hope,  that  Tom  had  spoken  the  truth.  Poor  Rita  in  the 
midst  of  her  confusion  misunderstood  Die's  laughter; 
and,  smarting  from  the  truth  of  Tom's  words,  quickly 
retorted :  — 

"You're  a  fool  to  say  such  a  thing,  and  if  —  if  —  if  — 
Mr.  —  Mr.  Bright  believes  it,  he  is  as  great  a  fool  as  you." 

"Mr.  Bright!"  cried  de  Trinin'.  "My,  but  she's  get 
ting  stylish ! " 

Rita  looked  at  Die  after  she  spoke,  and  the  pain  he 
felt  was  so  easily  discernible  on  his  face  that  she  would 
have  given  anything,  even  the  ribbon,  to  have  had  her 
words  back,  or  to  have  been  able  to  cry  out,  "  I  didn't 
mean  it,  Die  ;  I  didn't  mean  it." 

But  the  words  she  had  spoken  would  not  come  back, 
and  those  she  wanted  to  speak  would  not  come  forward,  so 
tears  came  instead,  and  she  ran  to  her  loft,  to  do  penance 
in  sobs  greatly  disproportionate  to  her  sin. 

Soon  Die  left,  and  as  he  started  up  the  forest  path  she 
tried  by  gazing  at  him  from  her  window  to  make  him 
know  the  remorse  she  felt.  She  wanted  to  call  to  him,  but 
she  dared  not ;  then  she  thought  to  escape  unseen  from  the 
house  and  run  after  him.  But  darkness  was  rapidly  fall 
ing,  and  she  feared  the  black,  terrible  forest. 

We  talk  a  great  deal  about  the  real  things  of  after  life ; 
but  the  real  things  of  life,  the  keen  joys  and  the  keenest 
pains,  come  to  a  man  before  his  first  vote,  and  to  a  woman 
before  the  days  of  her  mature  womanhood. 


THE    BACHELOR    HEART 


CHAPTER   II 
THE  BACHELOR  HEART 

ITA'S  first  great  pain  kept  her  sleepless  through 
many  hours.  She  resolved  that  when  Die  should 
come  again  she  would  throw  off  the  restraint  that 
so  hurt  and  provoked  her,  and  would  show  him,  at  what 
ever  cost,  that  she  had  not  intended  her  hard  words  for  him. 

The  ne"xt  day  seemed  an  age.  She  sought  all  kinds  of 
work  to  make  the  time  pass  quickly.  Churning,  usually 
irksome,  was  a  luxury.  She  swept  every  nook  and  corner 
of  the  house,  and  longed  to  sweep  the  whole  farm. 

That  evening  she  did  not  wait  till  Die  was  in  sight  to 
put  on  her  ribbon.  She  changed  it  many  times  from  her 
throat  to  her  hair  and  back  again,  long  before  the  sun  had 
even  thought  of  going  down. 

Her  new  attitude  toward  Die  had  at  least  one  good 
effect :  it  took  from  her  the  irritation  she  had  so  often  felt 
against  herself.  Losing  part  of  her  self -consciousness  in 
the  whirl  of  a  new,  strong  motive,  wrought  a  great  change, 
not  only  in  her  appearance,  but  also  in  her  way  of  looking 
at  things  —  herself  included.  She  was  almost  satisfied  with 
the  image  her  mirror  reflected.  She  might  well  have  been 
entirely  satisfied.  There  was  neither  guile  nor  vanity  in  the 
girl's  heart,  nor  a  trace  of  deceit  in  her  face ;  only  gentle 
ness,  truth,  and  beauty.  She  had  not  hitherto  given  much 
thought  to  her  face ;  but  with  the  change  in  her  way  of 
seeing  Die,  her  eyes  were  opened  to  the  value  of  personal 
beauty.  Then  she  began  to  wonder.  Regret  for  her  hard 

29 


3o  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

words  to  Die  deepened  her  longing  for  beauty,  in  the  hope 
that  she  might  be  admired  by  him  and  more  easily  forgiven. 
Billy  Little,  who  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  once  said  that 
there  was  a  gentleness  and  beauty  about  Rita  at  this  time 
which  he  believed  no  other  woman  ever  possessed.  She 
was  child  and  woman  then,  and  that  combination  is  hard  to 
beat,  even  in  a  plain  girl.  Poor  old  Billy  Little !  He  was 
more  than  thirty  years  her  senior,  but  I  believe  there  is  no 
period  in  the  life  of  a  bachelor,  however  case-hardened  he 
may  be,  when  his  heart  is  entirely  safe  from  the  enemy. 
That  evening  Rita  sat  on  the  porch  watching  for  Die.  But 
the  sun  and  her  heart  went  down,  and  Die  did  not  come. 

The  plaintive  rain  cry  of  a  whippoorwill  from  the  branches 
of  a  dead  tree  across  the  river,  and  the  whispering  "  peep, 
peep,  peep,"  of  the  sleepy  robins  in  the  foliage  near  the 
house,  helped  to  deepen  her  feeling  of  disappointment,  and 
she  was  thoroughly  miserable.  She  tried  to  peer  through 
the  gloaming,  and  feared  her  father  and  mother  would 
mark  her  troubled  eagerness  and  guess  its  cause.  But  her 
dread  of  their  comments  was  neutralized  by  the  fear  that 
Die  would  not  come. 

Opportunity  is  the  touchstone  of  fate,  save  with  women. 
With  them  it  is  fate  itself.  Had  Die  appeared  late  that 
evening,  there  would  have  been  a  demonstration  on  Rita's 
part,  regardless  of  who  might  have  seen,  and  the  young 
man  would  have  discovered  an  interesting  truth.  Rita, 
deeply  troubled,  discovered  it  for  herself,  and  thought 
surely  it  was  plain  enough  for  every  one  else  to  see. 

When  darkness  had  fallen,  she  became  reckless  of  con 
cealment,  and  walked  a  short  way  up  the  river  in  the  hope 
of  meeting  Die.  The  hooting  of  an  owl  frightened  her, 
but  she  did  not  retreat  till  she  heard  the  howling  of  a 
wolf.  Then  she  ran  home  at  full  speed  and  went  to  bed 
full  of  the  most  healthful  suffering  a  heart  can  know  — 
that  which  it  feels  because  of  the  pain  it  has  given  another. 


'SlIK   I'HANC.ED    IT   MANY    TIMKS." 


THE   BACHELOR   HEART  33 

Thus  Die  missed  both  opportunity  and  demonstration. 
The  next  evening  he  missed  another  opportunity,  and  by 
the  morning  of  the  third  day  our  little  girl,  blushing  at 
the  thought,  determined  to  write  to  him  and  ask  his  for 
giveness.  There  was  one  serious  obstacle  to  writing :  she 
had  neither  paper  nor  ink,  nor  money  with  which  to  buy 
them.  Hitherto  she  had  found  little  use  for  money,  but 
now  the  need  was  urgent.  Tom  always  had  money,  and 
she  thought  of  begging  a  few  pennies  from  him.  No ! 
Tom  would  laugh,  and  refuse.  If  she  should  ask  her 
mother,  a  string  of  questions  would  ensue,  with  "  No"  for 
a  snapper.  Her  father  would  probably  give  her  money,  if 
she  asked  for  it;  but  her  mother  would  ask  questions 
later.  She  would  ride  to  town,  one  mile  south  on  Blue, 
and  ask  credit  of  her  old  friend,  Billy  Little,  to  the  extent 
of  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  small  pot  of  ink.  For  a  pen  she 
would  catch  a  goose,  pluck  a  quill,  and  ask  Billy  to  cut  it. 
Billy  could  cut  the  best  pen  of  any  one  on  Blue. 

Dinner  over,  she  caught  the  goose  after  an  exciting 
chase,  plucked  the  quill,  saddled  her  horse,  and  was  slip 
ping  away  from  the  back  yard  when  her  mother's  voice 
halted  her. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Mrs.  Margarita. 

"I'm  —  I'm  —  going  —  going  to  see  Sukey  Yates," 
answered  the  girl. 

She  had  not  intended  going  to  Sukey's,  but  after  her 
mother's  peremptory  demand  for  information,  she  formed 
the  ex  post  facto  resolution  to  do  so,  that  her  answer  might 
not  be  a  lie. 

"  Now,  what  on  earth  do  you  want  there  ? "  asked  the 
Chief  Justice. 

"I  —  I  only  want  to  sit  awhile  with  her,"  answered  Rita. 
"  May  I  go  ?  The  work  is  all  done." 

"  No,  you  shan't  go,"  responded  the  kind  old  lady.  You 
see,  one  of  the  maxims  of  this  class  of  good  persons  is 


34  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

to  avoid  as  many  small  pleasures  as  possible  —  in  others. 
That  they  apply  the  rule  to  themselves,  doesn't  help  to 
make  it  endurable. 

Rita  —  with  whom  to  hear  was  to  obey  —  sprang  from 
her  horse ;  but  just  then  her  father  came  upon  the  scene. 
His  soft  words  and  soothing  suggestions  mollified  Justice, 
and  Rita  started  forth  upon  her  visit  to  Sukey.  She  had  told 
her  mother  she  was  going  to  see  Sukey  Yates ;  and  when 
she  thought  upon  the  situation,  she  became  convinced  that 
her  ex  post  facto  resolution,  even  though  honestly  'acted 
upon,  would  not  avail  her  in  avoiding  a  lie,  unless  it  were 
carried  out  to  the  letter  and  in  the  spirit.  There  was  not  a 
lie  in  this  honest  girl  —  not  a  fractional  part  of  a  lie  —  from 
her  toes  to  her  head.  She  went  straight  to  see  Sukey,  and 
did  not  go  to  town,  though  she  might  easily  have  done  so. 
She  did  not  fear  discovery.  She  feared  the  act  of  secret 
disobedience,  and  above  all  she  dreaded  the  lie.  A  strong 
motive  might  induce  her  to  disobey,  but  the  disobedience 
in  that  case  would  be  open.  She  would  go  to  Sukey's 
to-day.  To-morrow  she  would  go  to  town  in  open  rebell 
ion,  if  need  be.  The  thought  of  rebellion  caused  her  to 
tremble ;  but  let  the  powers  at  home  also  tremble.  Like 
many  of  us,  she  was  brave  for  to-morrow's  battle,  since 
to-morrow  never  comes. 

Rita  was  not  in  the  humor  to  listen  to  Sukey's  good- 
natured  prattle,  so  her  visit  was  brief,  and  she  soon  rode 
home,  her  heart  full  of  trouble  and  rebellion.  But  the 
reward  for  virtue,  which  frequently  fails  to  make  its  ap 
pearance,  waited  upon  our  heroine.  When  she  was  about 
to  dismount  at  the  home  gate,  her  father  called  to  her :  — 

"  While  you're  on  your  horse,  Rita,  you  might  ride  to 
town  and  ask  Billy  Little  if  there's  a  letter.  The  mail 
came  in  three  days  ago." 

The  monster,  Rebellion,  at  once  disappeared,  and  the 
girl,  conscience-smitten,  resolved  never,  never  to  entertain 


THE   BACHELOR   HEART  35 

him  again.  She  rode  down  the  river  path  through  the 
forest,  happy  after  many  days  of  wretchedness. 

Billy  Little's  store  building  consisted  of  two  log-built 
rooms.  The  long  front  room  was  occupied  by  the  store 
and  post-office.  The  back  room,  as  Billy  said,  was  occu 
pied  by  his  piano  and  himself.  When  he  saw  Rita,  clothed 
in  dainty  calico  and  smiles,  gallop  up  to  the  hitching-post, 
his  heart  was  filled  with  joy,  his  face  beamed  with  pleasure, 
and  his  scalp  was  suffused  by  a  rosy  hue.  Billy's  smooth- 
shaven  face  was  pale,  the  blood  never  mounting  to  his 
cheeks,  so  he  made  amends  as  best  he  could  and  blushed 
with  the  top  of  his  head. 

"  Good  evening  to  you,  Rita,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  her 
to  the  ground  and  hitched  her  horse.  "  I  am  delighted 
to  see  you.  You  come  like  the  rosy  sun  after  a  rainy 
day." 

"  The  sun  doesn't  come  after  the  day,  Billy  Little," 
retorted  the  laughing  girl.  "  You  probably  mean  the  pale 
moon,  or  a  poor  dim  little  star." 

"  I  know  what  I  mean,"  answered  the  little  old  fellow  in 
tones  of  mock  indignation,  "and  I'll  not  allow  a  chit  of  a 
girl  to  correct  my  astronomy.  I'm  your  schoolmaster,  and 
if  I  say  the  sun  comes  after  the  day,  why  after  the  day  it 
comes.  Now,  there!"  he  continued,  as  they  entered  the 
store.  "  Turn  your  face  to  the  wall  and  do  penance. 
Such  insolence  !  " 

The  girl  faced  the  wall,  and  after  a  moment  she  looked 
laughingly  over  her  shoulder  at  him.  "If  you'll  let  me 
turn  around,  I'll  admit  that  the  sun  comes  at  midnight,  if 
you  say  it  does,  Billy  Little." 

"  Midnight  it  is,"  said  Billy,  sternly.     "  Take  your  seat." 

She  ran  laughing  to  Billy,  and  clasping  his  arm  affec 
tionately,  said  with  a  touch  of  seriousness  :  — 

"It  comes  whenever  you  say  it  does,  Billy  Little.  I'd 
believe  you  before  I'd  believe  myself." 


36  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Poor  old  bachelor  heart!  Look  to  your  breastworks; 
the  enemy  is  at  hand. 

"  Now  I've  noticed,"  said  cynical  Billy,  "that  whenever 
the  feminine  heart  wants  something,  it  grows  tender. 
What  do  you  want?" 

"  I  want  a  letter,  Billy  Little.  Father  sent  me  down  to 
fetch  it,  if  there  is  one." 

"  Yes,  there's  one  here,"  he  answered,  going  back  of  the 
glass-covered  pigeon-holes.  "  There's  one  here  from  In 
dianapolis.  It's  from  your  Uncle  Jim  Fisher.  I  suppose 
he's  after  your  father  again  to  sell  his  farm  and  invest  the 
proceeds  in  the  Indianapolis  store.  Precious  fool  he'll  be 
if  he  does." 

"Indeed,  he  would  not  be  a  fool,"  retorted  the  girl. 
"  I'm  just  wild  for  father  to  move  to  Indianapolis.  I  don't 
want  to  grow  up  in  the  country  like  a  ragweed  or  mullein 
stalk,  and  I  —  "  ("  Like  a  sweetbrier  or  a  golden-rod,"  in 
terrupted  Billy)  "and  I  don't  want  you  to  advise  him 
not  to  go,"  she  continued,  unmindful  of  Billy's  flowers  of 
poesy. 

"  Well,  here's  the  letter.     Do  you  want  anything  else  ? " 

"  N-o-o-no." 

"Then,  for  once,  I've  found  a  disinterested  female  in  a 
coaxing  mood,"  replied  this  modern  Diogenes.  He  came 
from  behind  the  counter,  pretending  to  believe  her,  and 
started  toward  the  door. 

"  How's  Die  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a 
fortnight.  I've  been  wondering  what  has  become  of  him." 
The  girl's  face  turned  red  —  painfully  so  to  Billy  —  as  she 
replied :  — 

"I  —  I  haven't  seen  him  either  for  —  for  a  very  long 
time  —  three  days."  She  stopped  talking  and  Billy  re 
mained  silent.  After  a  long  pause  she  spoke  up  briskly, 
as  if  she  had  just  remembered  something. 

"  Oh,  I  almost  forgot  —  there  is  something  I  want,  and 


THE    BACHELOR   HEART  37 

—  and  after  all,  you're  right.     I  want  —  I  want  —  won't 
you  —  will  you  —  I  say,  Billy  Little,  won't  you  let  me  have 
a  sheet  of  writing  paper  and  a  pot  of  ink,  and  won't  you 
cut  this  pen  for  me  ? " 

Billy  took  the  quill  and  turned  to  go  behind  the  counter. 
The  girl  was  dancing  nervously  on  her  toes.  "  But  say, 
Billy  Little,  I  can't  pay  you  for  them  now.  Will  —  will 

—  you  trust  me?" 

Billy  did  not  reply,  but  went  to  the  letter-paper  box. 

"You  had  better  take  more  than  one  sheet,  Rita,"  he 
said  softly.  "  If  you're  going  to  write  a  love-letter  to  Die, 
you  will  be  sure  to  spoil  the  first  sheet,  perhaps  the  second 
and  third." 

Billy's  head  blushed  vividly  after  he  had  spoken,  for  his 
remark  was  a  prying  one.  The  girl  had  no  thought  of 
writing  a  love-letter,  and  she  resented  the  insinuation. 
She  was  annoyed  because  she  had  betrayed  her  purpose 
in  buying  the  paper.  But  she  loved  Billy  Little  too  dearly 
to  show  her  resentment,  and  remained  silent.  The  girl, 
Billy,  and  Die  differing  as  much  as  it  is  possible  for  three 
persons  to  differ,  save  in  their  common  love  for  books  and 
truth,  had  been  friends  ever  since  her  babyhood,  and  Billy 
was  the  only  person  to  whom  she  could  easily  lay  bare  her 
heart.  Upon  second  thought  she  concluded  to  tell  him 
her  trouble. 

"  It  was  this  way,  Billy  Little,"  she  began,  and  after 
stumbling  over  many  words,  she  made  a  good  start,  and 
the  little  story  of  her  troubles  fell  from  her  lips  like  crystal 
water  from  a  babbling  spring. 

After  her  story  was  finished  —  and  she  found  great  re 
lief  in  the  telling  —  Billy  said  :  — 

"  Of  course  I'll  trust  you.  I'd  trust  you  for  the  whole 
store  if  you  wanted  to  buy  it.  I'd  trust  you  with  my 
soul,"  he  added  after  a  pause.  "  There's  not  a  false  drop 
of  blood  in  your  veins." 


38  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

"Ah,  Billy  Little,"  she  answered,  as  she  took  his  hand 
caressingly  for  an  instant,  and  her  eyes,  with  their  wonder 
ful  capacity  for  expression,  said  the  rest. 

"  So,  you  see,  I  do  want  to  write  a  letter  to  Die,"  she 
said,  dropping  his  hand ;  "  but  it  is  not  to  be  a  love-letter. 
I  could  not  write  one  if  I  wished.  I  was  very  wicked. 
Oh,  Billy  Little,  I  honestly  think,  at  times,  I'm  the  worst 
girl  that  ever  lived.  Something  terrible  will  happen  to 
me  for  my  wickedness,  I'm  sure.  Mother  says  it  will." 

"Yes,  something  terrible  —  terrible,  I'm  sure,"  returned 
Billy,  musingly. 

"And  I  want  to  apologize  to  him,"  she  continued,  "and 
tell  him  I  didn't  mean  it.  Isn't  it  right  that  I  should  ? " 

"Oh,  yes  —  yes,"  answered  Billy,  starting  out  of  his 
revery.  "  Of  course,  yes  —  Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonny 
—  um  —  um  —  um  —  um  —  um  —  yes,  oh  yes." 

When  vexed,  pleased,  or  puzzled,  Billy  was  apt  to  hum 
the  opening  line  of  "Annie  Laurie,"  though  the  first  four 
words  were  all  that  received  the  honor  of  distinct  articula 
tion.  The  remainder  of  the  stanza  he  allowed  to  die  away 
under  his  breath.  Rita  was  of  course  familiar  with  the 
habit,  but  this  time  she  could,  not  tell  which  motive  had 
prompted  the  musical  outburst.  Billy  himself  couldn't 
have  told,  but  perhaps  the  bachelor  heart  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it. 

"Thank  you,  Billy  Little,  for  the  paper,"  said  Rita. 
"  I'll  pay  you  with  the  first  money  I  get."  Billy  silently 
helped  her  to  mount  her  horse.  She  smiled,  "  Good-by," 
and  he  walked  slowly  back  to  the  store  muttering  to 
himself :  "  Billy  Little,  Billy  Little,  your  breastworks  are 
weak,  and  you  are  a — Maxwelton's  braes  —  um  —  um  — 
um  —  um.  —  Ah,  good  evening,  Mrs.  Carson.  Something 
I  can  do  for  you  this  evening  ?  Sugar  ?  Ah,  yes,  plenty. 
Best  in  town.  Best  shipment  I  ever  had,"  and  Billy  was 
once  more  a  merchant. 


THE    BACHELOR   HEART  39 

When  Rita  reached  home  supper  was  ready,  and  after 
the  supper  work  was  finished  it  was  too  dark  to  write  ; 
so  the  letter  was  postponed  a  day,  and  she  took  her 
place  on  the  porch,  hoping  that  Die  would  come  and 
that  the  letter  might  be  postponed  indefinitely.  But  he 
did  not  come.  Next  morning  churning  had  again  be 
come  loathsome,  sweeping  was  hard  work,  and  dinner 
was  a  barbarous  institution.  Rita  had  no  appetite,  and 
to  sympathize  with  those  who  are  hungry  one  must  be 
hungry. 

Innumerable  very  long  minutes  had  woven  themselves 
into  mammoth  hours  when  Rita,  having  no  table  in  her 
room,  found  herself  lying  on  the  floor  writing  her  mo 
mentous  letter.  It  was  not  to  be  a  love-letter ;  simply 
an  appeal  for  forgiveness  to  a  friend  whom  she  had 
wantonly  injured. 

"  Dear  old  Billy  Little,"  she  said  to  herself,  when  she 
opened  the  package.  "  What  pretty  paper  —  and  he 
has  given  me  six  sheets  in  place  of  one  —  and  a  little 
pot  of  ink  —  and  a  sand-box !  I  wonder  if  the  quill 
is  a  good  one  !  Ah,  two  —  three  quills  !  Dear  old  Billy 
Little  !  Here  is  enough  paper  to  last  me  for  years." 
In  that  respect  she  was  mistaken.  She  experienced  dif 
ficulty  with  effort  number  one,  but  finished  the  letter  and 
read  it  aloud  ;  found  it  wholly  unsatisfactory,  and  destroyed 
it.  She  used  greater  care  with  the  next,  but  upon  read 
ing  it  over  she  found  she  had  said  too  much  of  what  she 
wished  to  leave  unsaid,  and  too  little  of  what  she  wanted  to 
say.  She  destroyed  number  two  with  great  haste  and  some 
irritation,  for  it  was  almost  a  love-letter.  The  same  fate 
befell  numbers  three,  four,  and  five.  After  all,  Billy's 
liberal  supply  of  paper  would  not  last  for  years.  If  it 
proved  sufficient  for  one  day,  she  would  be  satisfied. 
Number  six,  right  or  wrong,  must  go  to  Die,  so  she 
wrote  simply  and  briefly  what  was  in  her  heart. 


4o  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

"  DEAR  FRIEND  Die  :  My  words  were  not  intended 
for  you.  I  was  angry  with  Tom,  as  I  had  good  reason 
to  be,  though  he  spoke  the  truth.  I  did  put  on  my 
ribbon  because  I  saw  you  coming,  and  I  have  cried  every 
night  since  then  because  of  what  I  said  to  you,  and 
because  you  do  not  come  to  let  me  tell  you  how  sorry  I 
am.  You  should  have  given  me  a  chance.  I  would  have 
given  you  one.  RITA." 

It  was  a  sweet,  straightforward  letter,  half-womanly, 
half-childish,  and  she  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of 
it;  but  she  feared  it  was  bold,  and  tears  came  to  her 
eyes  when  she  read  it,  because  there  were  no  more  sheets 
of  paper,  and  modest  or  bold  it  must  go  to  Die. 

Having  written  the  letter,  she  had  no  means  of  send 
ing  it ;  but  she  had  entered  upon  the  venture,  and  was 
determined  to  carry  it  through.  Mrs.  Bays  and  her  hus 
band  had  driven  to  town,  and  there  was  no  need  for 
ex  post  facto  resolutions.  When  the  letter  had  been 
properly  directed  and  duly  sealed,  the  girl  saddled  her 
horse  and  started  away  on  another  journey  to  Sukey 
Yates.  This  time,  however,  she  went  somewhat  out  of 
her  way,  riding  up  the  river  path  through  the  forest  to  Die 
Bright's  home.  When  she  reached  the  barnyard  gate 
Die  was  hitching  the  horses  to  the  "  big  wagon."  He  came 
at  Rita's  call,  overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  her.  He  knew 
she  had  come  to  ask  forgiveness.  For  many  months 
past  he  had  tried  not  to  see  that  she  was  unkind  to  him, 
but  her  words  on  the  porch  had  convinced  him,  and  he  saw 
that  her  coldness  had  been  intentional.  Of  course  he 
did  not  know  the  cause  of  her  altered  demeanor,  and  had 
regretfully  put  it  down  to  an  altered  sentiment  on  her 
part.  But  when  he  saw  hej  at  the  barnyard  gate,  he 
was  again  in  the  dark  as  to  her  motive. 

When  Die  came  up  to  her  she  handed  him  the  letter 


THE   BACHELOR   HEART  41 

over  the  gate,  saying :  "  Read  it  alone.  Let  no  one  see 
it." 

Die  had  only  time  to  say,  "  Thank  you,"  when  the  girl 
struck  her  horse  and  galloped  down  the  forest  path,  bound 
for  Sukey.  When  she  had  passed  out  of  sight  among  the 
trees,  Die  went  down  the  river  to  a  secluded  spot,  known  as 
"The  Stepoff,"  where  he  could  read  the  letter  without  fear 
of  detection.  He  had  long  suspected  that  his  love  for  the 
girl  was  not  altogether  brotherly,  and  his  recent  trouble 
with  her  had  crystallized  that  suspicion  into  certainty. 
But  he  saw  nothing  back  of  the  letter  but  friendship 
and  contrition.  The  girl's  love  was  so  great  a  treas 
ure  that  he  dared  not  even  hope  for  it,  and  was  more  than 
satisfied  with  the  Platonic  affection  so  plainly  set  forth 
in  her  epistle.  We  who  have  looked  into  Rita's  heart 
know  of  a  thing  or  two  that  does  not  resemble  Platonism  ; 
but  the  girl  herself  did  not  fully  know  what  she  felt,  and 
Die  was  sure  she  could  not,  under  any  circumstances,  feel 
as  he  did.  His  mistake  grew  partly  out  of  his  lack  of 
knowledge  that  woman's  flesh  and  blood  is  of  exactly 
the  same  quality  that  covers  the  bones  and  flows  in  the 
veins  of  man,  and  —  well,  Rita  was  Rita,  and,  in  Die's 
opinion,  no  other  human  being  was  ever  of  the  quality 
of  her  flesh,  or  cast  in  the  mould  of  her  nature.  The 
letter  told  him  that  he  still  held  her  warm,  tender  love 
as  a  friend.  He  was  thankful  for  that,  and  would  neither 
ask  nor  expect  anything  more. 

If  upon  Rita's  former  visit  to  Sukey  she  had  been  too 
sad  to  enjoy  the  vivacious  little  maiden,  upon  this  occasion 
she  was  too  happy.  She  sat  listening  patiently  to  her  chat, 
without  hearing  much  of  it,  until  Sukey  said  :  — 

"  Die  was  over  to  see  me  last  night.  I  think  he's  so 
handsome,  don't  you  ?" 

Rita  was  so  startled  that  she  did  not  think  anything  at 
the  moment,  and  Sukey  presently  asked  :  — 


42  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

"  Don't  you  think  he  has  a  fine  head  ?  and  his  eyes  are 
glorious.  The  gray  is  so  dark,  and  they  look  right  at 
you." 

Rita,  compelled  to  answer,  said,  "I  think  he  is  —  is  all 
right — strong." 

"  Indeed,  he  is  strong,"  responded  Sukey.  "  When  he 
takes  hold  of  you,  you  just  feel  like  he  could  crush  you. 
Oh,  it's  delicious  —  it's  thrilling  —  when  you  feel  that  a 
man  could  just  tear  you  to  pieces  if  he  wanted  to." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Rita  ;  "I  don't  understand." 

"Oh,  just  because,"  replied  Sukey,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  and  laughing  softly,  her  red  lips  parted,  her  little 
teeth  glistening  like  wet  ivory,  and  the  dimples  twinkling 
mischievously. 

"Just  because"  explained  nothing  to  Rita,  but  some 
thing  in  Sukey's  laughter  and  manner  aroused  undefined 
and  disagreeable  suspicions,  so  she  said  :  — 

"Well,  Sukey,  I  must  be  going  home." 

"  Why,  you  just  came,"  returned  Sukey,  still  laughing 
softly.  She  had  shot  her  arrow  intentionally  and  had 
seen  it  strike  the  target's  centre.  Sukey  was  younger 
than  Rita,  but  she  knew  many  times  a  thing  or  two; 
while  poor  Rita's  knowledge  of  those  mystic  numbers  was 
represented  by  the  figure  o.  . 

Why  should  Die  "  take  hold  "  of  any  one,  thought  Rita, 
while  riding  home,  and  above  all,  why  should  he  take  hold 
of  Sukey  ?  Sukey  was  pretty,  and  Sukey's  prettiness 
and  Die's  "  taking  hold "  seemed  to  be  related  in  some 
mysterious  manner.  She  who  saw  others  through  the 
clear  lens  of  her  own  conscience  did  not  doubt  Die  and 
Sukey,  but  notwithstanding  her  trustfulness,  a  dim  sus 
picion  passed  through  her  mind  that  something  might  be 
wrong  if  Die  had  really  "  taken  hold  "  of  Sukey.  Where 
the  evil  was,  she  could  not  determine  ;  and  to  connect  the 
straightforward,  manly  fellow  with  anything  dishonorable 


THE    BACHELOR    HEART  43 

or  wicked  was  impossible  to  her.  So  she  dismissed  the 
subject,  and  it  left  no  trace  upon  her  mind  save  a  slight 
irritation  against  Sukey. 

Rita  felt  sure  that  Die  would  come  to  see  Tom  that 
evening,  and  the  red  ribbon  was  in  evidence  soon  after 
supper.  Die  did  come,  and  there  was  at  least  one  happy 
girl  on  Blue. 


THE   SYCAMORE   DIVAN 


CHAPTER   III 
THE  SYCAMORE    DIVAN 

A  VIRGIN  love  in  the  heart  of  a  young  girl  is  like 
an  effervescent  chemical :  it  may  withstand  a  great 
shock,  but  a  single  drop  of  an  apparently  harmless 
liquid  may  cause  it  to  evaporate.  This  risk  Die  took  when 
he  went  that  evening  to  see  Tom ;  and  the  fact  that  Rita 
had  written  her  letter,  of  which  she  had  such  grave  mis 
givings,  together  with  the  words  of  Sukey  Yates,  made 
his  risk  doubly  great.  Poor  Die  needed  a  thorough  knowl 
edge  of  chemistry.  He  did  not  know  that  he  possessed  it, 
but  he  was  a  pure-minded,  manly  man,  and  the  knowledge 
was  innate  with  him. 

"  Good  evening,  Rita,"  said  Die,  when,  after  many  efforts, 
she  came  out  upon  the  porch  where  he  was  sitting  with  her 
father,  her  mother,  and  Tom. 

"  Good  morning,"  answered  Rita,  confusedly,  and  her 
mistake  as  to  the  time  of  day  added  to  her  confusion. 

"  Good  morning  !  "  cried  Tom.  "  It's  evening.  My  ! 
but  she's  confused  because  you're  here,  Die." 

Tom  was  possessed  of  a  simian  acuteness  that  had  led 
him  to  discover  poor  Rita's  secret  before  she  herself  was 
fully  aware  of  its  existence.  She,  however,  was  rapidly 
making  the  interesting  discovery,  and  feared  that  between 
the  ribbon,  the  letter,  and  Tom's  amiable  jokes,  Die  would 
discover  it  and  presume  upon  the  fact.  From  the  min 
gling  of  these  doubts  and  fears  grew  a  feeling  of  resent 
ment  against  Die  —  a  conviction  before  the  fact.  She 

47 


48  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

wished  him  to  know  her  regard  for  him,  but  she  did  not 
want  him  to  learn  it  from  any  act  of  hers.  She  desired 
him  to  wrest  it  from  her  by  main  force,  and  as  little 
awkwardness  as  a  man  may  use.  Had  Die  by  the  small 
est  word  or  act  shown  a  disposition  to  profit  by  what  Rita 
feared  had  been  excessive  frankness  in  her  letter,  or  had 
he,  in  any  degree,  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  confident 
lover,  such  word  or  act  would  have  furnished  the  needful 
chemical  drop,  and  Die's  interests  would  have  suffered. 
His  safety  at  this  time  lay  in  ignorance.  He  did  not  sus 
pect  that  Rita  loved  him,  and  there  was  no  change  in  his 
open  friendly  demeanor.  He  was  so  easy,  frank,  and 
happy  that  evening  that  the  girl  soon  began  to  feel  that 
nothing  unusual  had  happened,  and  that,  after  all,  the 
letter  was  not  bold,  but  perfectly  right,  and  quite  proper 
in  all  respects.  Unconsciously  to  her  Die  received  the 
credit  for  her  eased  conscience,  and  she  was  grateful  to 
him.  She  was  more  comfortable,  and  the  evening  seemed 
more  like  old  times  than  for  many  months  before. 

Soon  after  Die's  arrival,  Tom  rode  over  to  see  Sukey 
Yates.  As  the  hollyhock  to  the  bees,  so  was  Sukey  to  the 
country  beaux  —  a  conspicuous,  inviting,  easily  reached 
little  reservoir  of  very  sweet  honey.  Later,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bays  drove  to  town,  leaving  Die  and  Rita  to  themselves, 
much  to  the  girl's  alarm,  though  she  and  Die  had  been 
alone  together  many  times  before.  Thus  Die  had  further 
opportunity  to  make  a  mistake ;  but  he  did  not  mention  the 
letter,  and  the  girl's  confidence  came  slowly  back  to  her. 

The  evening  was  balmy,  and  after  a  time  Die  and  Rita 
walked  to  the  crest  of  the  little  slope  that  fell  gently  ten  or 
fifteen  feet  to  the  water's  edge.  A  sycamore  log  answered 
the  purpose  of  a  divan,  and  a  great  drooping  elm  furnished 
a  royal  canopy.  A  half-moon  hung  in  the  sky,  whitening 
a  few  small  clouds  that  seemed  to  be  painted  on  the  blue- 
black  dome.  The  air,  though  not  oppressive,  was  warm 


THE   SYCAMORE   DIVAN  49 

enough  to  make  all  nature  languorous,  and  the  soft  breath 
of  the  south  wind  was  almost  narcotic  in  its  power  to 
soothe.  A  great  forest  is  never  still ;  even  its  silence  has 
a  note  of  its  own.  The  trees  seem  to  whisper  to  each 
other  in  the  rustling  of  their  leaves.  The  birds,  awakened 
by  the  wind  or  by  the  breaking  of  a  twig,  speak  to  their 
neighbors.  The  peevish  catbird  and  the  blue  jay  grumble, 
while  the  thrush,  the  dove,  and  the  redbird  peep  caress 
ingly  to  their  mates,  and  again  fall  asleep  with  gurgles 
of  contentment  in  their  throats. 

Rita  and  Die  sat  by  the  river's  edge  for  many  minutes 
in  silence.  The  ever  wakeful  whippoorwill  piped  his  dole 
ful  cry  from  a  tree  across  the  water,  an  owl  hooted  from 
the  blackness  of  the  forest  beyond  the  house,  and  the 
turtle-doves  cooed  plaintively  to  each  other  in  their  far- 
reaching,  mournful  tones,  giving  a  minor  note  to  the 
nocturnal  concert.  Now  and  then  a  fish  sprang  from 
the  water  and  fell  back  with  a  splash,  and  the  water  itself 
kept  up  a  soft  babble  like  the  notes  of  a  living  flute. 

Certainly  the  time  was  ripe  for  a  mistake,  but  Die  did 
not  make  one.  A  woman's  favor  comes  in  waves  like  the 
flowing  of  the  sea  ;  and  a  wise  man,  if  he  fails  to  catch  one 
flood,  will  wait  for  another.  Die  was  unconsciously  wise, 
for  Rita's  favor  was  at  its  ebb  when  she  walked  down  to 
the  river  bank.  Ebb  tide  was  indicated  by  the  fact  that 
she  sat  as  far  as  possible  from  him  on  the  log.  The  first 
evidence  of  a  returning  flood-tide  would  be  an  unconscious 
movement  on  her  part  toward  him.  Should  the  movement 
come  from  him  there  might  be  no  flood-tide. 

During  the  first  half-hour  Die  did  most  of  the  talking, 
but  he  spoke  only  of  a  book  he  had  borrowed  from  Billy 
Little.  With  man's  usual  tendency  to  talk  a  subject 
threadbare,  he  clung  to  the  one  topic.  A  few  months 
prior  to  that  time  his  observations  on  the  book  would  have 
interested  the  girl;  but  recently  two  or  three  unusual 


5o  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

events  had  touched  her  life,  and  her  dread  that  Die 
would  speak  of  them,  was  rapidly  growing  into  a  fear  that 
he  would  not  By  the  end  of  that  first  half-hour,  her 
feminine  vivacity  monopolized  the  conversation  with  an 
ostentatious  display  of  trivial  details  on  small  subjects, 
and  she  began  to  move  toward  his  end  of  the  log.  Still 
Die  kept  his  place,  all  unconscious  of  his  wisdom. 

Geese  seemed  to  be  Rita's  favorite  topic.  Most  women 
are  clever  at  periphrasis,  and  will  go  a  long  way  around 
to  reach  a  desired  topic,  if  for  any  reason  they  do  not 
wish  to  approach  it  directly.  The  topics  Rita  wished  to 
reach,  as  she  edged  toward  Die  on  the  log  and  talked 
about  geese,  were  her  unkind  words  and  her  very  kind 
letter.  She  wished  to  explain  that  her  words  were  not 
meant  to  be  unkind,  and  that  the  letter  was  not  meant  to 
be  kind,  and  thought  to  reach  the  desired  topics  by  the 
way  of  geese. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Die,"  she  asked,  "  a  long  time  ago, 
when  Tom  and  I  and  the  Yates  children  spent  the  after 
noon  at  your  house  ?  We  were  sitting  near  the  river,  as 
we  are  sitting  now,  and  a  gray  wolf  ran  down  from  the 
opposite  bank  and  caught  a  gander  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  yesterday,"  replied  Die. 

"  Geese  are  such  fools  when  they  are  frightened,"  con 
tinued  Rita,  clinging  to  her  subject. 

"  So  are  people,"  answered  Die.  "  We  are  all  foolish 
when  frightened.  The  other  day  the  barn  door  slammed 
to  with  a  crash,  and  I  was  so  frightened  I  tried  to  put  the 
collar  in  the  horse's  mouth."  Rita  laughed,  and  Die  con 
tinued,  "Once  I  was  in  the  woods  hunting,  and  a  bear 
rose  up  —  " 

"  But  geese  are  worse  than  anybody  when  disturbed," 
interrupted  Rita,  "worse  even  than  you  when  the  barn 
door  slams.  The  other  day  I  wanted  to  catch  a  goose  to 
get  a — " 


THE   SYCAMORE   DIVAN  51 

"  They  are  not  worse  than  a  lot  of  girls  at  gabbling," 
interrupted  Die,  imgallantly  retaliating  for  Rita's  humorous 
thrust. 

"  They  are  not  half  so  dull  as  a  lot  of  men,"  she  replied, 
tossing  her  head.  "When  men  get  together  they  hum 
and  hum  about  politics  and  crops,  till  it  makes  one  almost 
wish  there  were  no  government  or  crops.  But  geese  are 
—  the  other  day  I  wanted  to  catch  one  to  get  a  — •  " 

"All  men  don't  hum  and  hum,  as  you  say,"  returned 
Die.  "  There's  Billy  Little  —  you  don't  think  he  hums,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  Billy  Little  always  says  some 
thing  when  he  talks,  but  he's  always  talking.  I  will  put 
him  against  any  man  in  the  world  for  a  talking  match. 
But  the  other  day  I  wanted  to  catch  a  goose  to  get  a  quill, 
and  —  " 

"  Oh,  that  reminds  me,"  broke  in  Die,  "  my  Uncle  Joe 
Bright  is  coming  to  visit  us  soon.  Talk  about  talkers  ! 
He  is  a  Seventh  Day  Adventist  preacher,  and  his  conversa 
tion —  no,  I'll  say  his  talk,  for  that's  all  it  is  —  reminds 
me  of  time." 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  queried  Rita. 

"  It's  made  up  of  small  particles,  goes  on  forever,  and 
is  all  seconds.  He  says  nothing  first  hand.  His  talk  is 
all  borrowed." 

Rita  laughed  and  tried  again.  "Well,  I  wanted  to 
catch  —  " 

"  You  just  spoke  of  a  talking  match,"  said  Die.  "  I  have 
an  idea.  Let  us  bring  Billy  Little  and  my  uncle  together 
for  a  talking  match." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Rita,  laughing  heartily.  "  I'll  stake 
my  money  on  Billy  Little.  But  I  was  saying,  the  other 
day  I  —  " 

"  I'll  put  mine  on  Uncle  Joe,"  cried  Die.  "  Billy  Little 
is  a  '  still  Bill'  compared  with  him." 


52  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

Rita  was  provoked,  and  I  think  with  good  reason ;  but 
after  a  pause  she  concluded  to  try  once  more. 

"  The  other  day  I  wanted  a  quill  for  a  pen,  and  when  I 
tried  to  catch  a  goose  I  thought  their  noise  would  alarm 
the  whole  settlement" 

"  Geese  awakened  Rome,"  said  Die.  "  If  they  should 
awaken  Blue  River,  it,  also,  might  become  famous.  The 
geese  episode  is  the  best  known  fact  concerning  the  Eter 
nal  City  —  unless  perhaps  it  is  her  howling." 

"  Rome  had  a  right  to  howl,"  said  Rita,  anxious  to  show 
that  she  remembered  his  teaching.  "  She  was  founded  by 
the  children  of  a  wolf." 

Die  was  pleased  and  laughingly  replied :  "  That  ponder 
ous  historical  epigram  is  good  enough  to  have  come  from 
Billy  Little  himself.  When  you  learn  a  fact,  it  immediately 
grows  luminous." 

The  girl  looked  quickly  up  to  satisfy  herself  that  he 
was  in  earnest.  Being  satisfied,  she  moved  an  inch  or  two 
nearer  him  on  the  log,  and  began  again :  — 

"I  wanted  to  catch  the  goose  —  "  but  she  stopped  and 
concluded  to  try  the  Billy  Little  road.  "  Dear  old  Billy 
Little,"  she  said,  "  isn't  he  good  ?  The  other  day  he  said 
he'd  trust  me  for  the  whole  store,  if  I  wanted  to  buy  it.  I 
had  no  money  and  I  wanted  to  buy  —  " 

"  Why  should  he  not  trust  you  for  all  you  would  buy  ?  " 
asked  Die.  "  He  knows  he  would  get  his  money." 

The  Billy  Little  route  also  seemed  hilly.  She  concluded 
to  try  another,  and  again  made  a  slight  movement  toward 
Die  on  the  log. 

"  I  went  from  your  house  this  afternoon  over  to  Sukey's." 
She  looked  stealthily  at  Die,  but  he  did  not  flinch.  After 
a  pause  she  continued,  with  a  great  show  of  carelessness 
and  indifference,  though  this  time  she  moved  away  from 
him  as  she  spoke.  "  She  said  you  had  been  over  to  see 
her  last  night."  And  to  show  that  she  was  not  at  all  in- 


THE   SYCAMORE   DIVAN  53 

terested  in  his  reply,  she  hummed  the  air  of  a  song  and 
carefully  scrutinized  a  star  that  was  coming  dangerously 
close  to  the  moon. 

"  Yes,  I  went  over  to  borrow  their  adze.  Ours  is 
broken,"  returned  Die. 

The  song  ceased.  Star  and  moon  might  collide  for  all 
the  singer  cared.  She  was  once  again  interested  in  things 
terrestrial. 

"  Now,  Die,"  she  cried,  again  moving  toward  him  and 
unduly  emphasizing  the  fact  that  she  was  merely  teasing 
(she  talked  to  tease,  but  listened  to  learn),  "  now,  Die,  you 
know  the  adze  was  only  an  excuse.  You  went  to  see 
Sukey.  You  know  you  did.  Why  didn't  you  borrow 
Raster's  adze  ?  They  live  much  nearer  your  house."  She 
thought  she  had  him  in  a  trap,  and  laughed  as  if  she  were 
delighted. 

"  I  went  to  Raster's  first.     They  had  none." 

The  girl  concluded  she  was  on  the  wrong  road.  But 
the  side  road  had  suddenly  become  interesting,  and  she 
determined  to  travel  it  a  short  way.  Silence  ensued  on 
Die's  part,  and  travel  on  the  side  road  became  slow. 
Rita  was  beginning  to  want  to  gallop.  If  she  continued 
on  the  side  road,  she  feared  her  motive  might  grow  to  look 
more  like  a  desire  to  learn  than  a  desire  to  tease ;  but  she 
summoned  her  boldness,  and  with  a  laugh  that  was  in 
tended  to  be  merry,  said  :  — 

"  Die,  you  know  you  went  to  see  Sukey,  and  that  you 
spent  the  evening  with  her." 

"  Did  she  say  I  did  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  sharply  upon  her. 

"Well  —  "  replied  Rita,  but  she  did  not  continue.  The 
Sukey  Yates  road  ^vas  interesting,  unusually  so. 

Die  paused  for  an  answer,  but  receiving  none,  continued 
with  emphasis  :  — 

"  I  did  not  go  into  the  house.  I  wasn't  there  five  minutes, 
and  I  didn't  say  ten  words  to  Sukey." 


54  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  You  need  not  get  mad  about  it,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I 
don't  care  how  often  you  go  to  see  Sukey  or  any  other  girl." 

"  I  know  you  don't,"  he  returned.  "  Of  course  you  don't 
care.  I  never  hoped  —  never  even  dreamed  —  that  you 
would,"  and  his  breath  came  quickly  with  his  bold,  bold 
words. 

"  You  might  as  well  begin  to  dream,"  thought  the  girl, 
but  she  laughed,  this  time  nervously,  and  said,  "  She  told 
me  you  were  there  and  took  —  took  hold  of  —  that  is,  she 
said  you  were  so  strong  that  when  you  took  hold  of  her  she 
felt  that  you  could  crush  her."  Then  forgetting  herself 
for  a  moment,  she  moved  quite  close  to  Die  and  asked, 
"Did  you  take  —  take  —  "  but  she  stopped. 

"Tell  me,  Rita,"  returned  Die,  with  a  sharpness  that 
attracted  her  attention  at  once,  "  did  she  say  I  took  hold 
of  her,  or  are  you  trying  to  tease  me  ?  If  you  are  teasing, 
I  think  it  is  in  bad  taste.  If  she  said  — " 

"Well,"  interrupted  the  girl,  slightly  frightened,  "she 
said  that  when  you  take  hold  of  one  —  " 

"  Oh,  she  did  not  say  herself  ?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  I  don't  see  that  she  could  have  meant  any  one  else," 
replied  Rita.  "  But,  dear  me,  I  don't  care  how  often  you 
take  hold  of  her ;  you  need  not  get  angry  at  me  because 
you  took  hold  of  her.  There  can  be  no  harm  in  taking 
hold  of  any  one,  I'm  sure,  if  you  choose  to  do  so  ;  but  why 
one  should  do  it,  I  don't  know,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  care." 

No  ex  post  facto  resolution  could  cure  that  lie,  though 
of  course  it  is  a  privileged  one  to  a  girl. 

Die  made  no  reply,  save  to  remark:  "I'll  see  Miss 
Sukey  to-morrow.  If  I  wanted  to  'take  hold'  of  her, 
as  she  calls  it,  I  would  do  so,  but  —  but  I'll  see  her 
to-morrow."  :, 

The  answer  startled  Rita.  She  did  not  want  to  be 
known  as  a  tale-bearer.  Especially  did  she  object  in  this 
particular  case ;  therefore  she  said  :  — 


THE   SYCAMORE   DIVAN  55 

"  You  may  see  her  if  you  wish,  but  you  shall  not  speak 
to  her  of  what  I  have  told  you.  She  would  think  — 

"  Let  her  think  what  she  chooses,"  he  replied.  "  I 
have  never  '  taken  hold  '  of  her  in  my  life.  Lord  knows, 
I  might  if  I  wanted  to.  All  the  other  boys  boast  that 
they  take  turn  about,  but — .  She  would  be  a  fool  to  tell 
if  it  were  true,  and  a  story-teller  if  not.  So  I'll  settle  the 
question  to-morrow,  and  for  all  time." 

A  deal  of  trouble  might  have  been  saved  had  Rita  per 
mitted  him  to  make  the  settlement  with  Sukey,  but  she 
did  not.  The  infinite  potency  of  little  things  is  one  of  the 
paradoxes  of  life. 

"  No,  you  shall  not  speak  of  this  matter  to  her,"  she 
said,  moving  close  to  him  upon  the  log  and  putting  her 
hand  upon  his  arm  coaxingly.  "  Promise  me  you  will 
not." 

He  would  have  promised  to  stop  breathing  had  she 
asked  it  in  that  mood.  It  was  the  first  he  had  ever  seen 
of  it,  and  he  was  pleased,  although,  owing  to  an  opaque 
ness  of  mind  due  to  his  condition,  it  told  him  nothing  save 
that  his  old-time  friend  was  back  again. 

"  If  you  tell  her,"  continued  the  girl,  "  she  will  be  angry 
with  me,  and  I  have  had  so  much  trouble  of  late  I  can't 
bear  any  more." 

At  last  she  was  on  the  straight  road  bowling  along  like 
a  mail  coach.  "  After  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  did  the  other 
night  —  you  know,  when  Tom  —  I  could  not  eat  or  sleep. 
Oh,  I  was  in  so  much  trouble !  You  and  I  had  always 
been  such  real  friends,  and  you  have  always  been  so  good 
to  me  —  "a  rare  little  lump  was  rapidly  and  alarmingly 
growing  in  her  throat  —  "I  have  never  had  even  an  un 
kind  look  from  you,  and  to  speak  to  you  as  I  did,  —  oh, 
Die, — "  the  lump  grew  too  large  for  easy  utterance,  and 
she  stopped  speaking.  Die  was  wise  in  not  pursuing  the 
ebb,  but  he  was  foolish  in  not  catching  the  flood.  But 


56  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

perhaps  if  he  would  wait,  it  might  ingulf  him  of  its  own 
accord,  and  then,  ah,  then,  the  sweetness  of  it ! 

"  Never  think  of  it  again,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  Your 
words  hurt  me  at  the  time,  but  your  kind,  frank  letter 
cured  the  pain,  and  I  intended  never  to  speak  of  it.  But 
since  you  have  spoken,  I  —  I  —  " 

The  girl  was  frightened,  although  eager  to  hear  what 
he  would  say,  so  she  remained  silent  during  Die's  long 
pause,  and  at  length  he  said,  "  I  thank  you  for  the 
letter." 

A  sigh  of  mingled  relief  and  disappointment  came  from 
her  breast. 

"  It  gave  me  great  pleasure,  for  it  made  me  know  that 
you  were  still  my  friend,"  said  Die,  "  and  that  your  words 
were  meant  for  Tom,  and  not  for  me." 

"  Indeed,  not  for  you,"  said  Rita,  still  struggling  with  the 
lump  in  her  throat. 

"  Let  us  never  speak  of  it  again,"  said  Die.  "  I'm  glad 
it  happened.  It  puts  our  friendship  on  a  firmer  basis  than 
ever  before." 

"That  would  be  rather  hard.to  do,  wouldn't  it  ?  "  asked 
the  girl,  laughing  contentedly.  "  We  have  been  such 
good  friends  ever  since  I  was  a  baby  —  since  before  I  can 
remember." 

The  direct  road  was  becoming  too  smooth  for  Rita,  and 
she  began  to  fear  she  would  not  be  able  to  stop. 

"  Let  us  make  this  bargain,"  said  Die.  "  When  you 
want  to  say  anything  unkind,  say  it  to  me.  I'll  not 
misunderstand." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied  laughingly,  "the  privilege 
may  be  a  great  comfort  to  me  at  times.  I,  of  course, 
dare  not  scold  mother.  If  I  look  cross  at  Tom,  mother 
scolds  me  for  a  week,  and  I  could  not  speak  unkindly  to 
poor  father.  You  see,  I  have  no  one  to  scold,  and  I'm 
sure  every  one  should  have  somebody  to  explode  upon 


THE   SYCAMORE   DIVAN  57 

with  impunity  now  and  then.  So  I'll  accept  your  offer, 
and  you  may  expect  —  "  There  was  a  brief  pause,  after 
which  she  continued  :  "  No,  I'll  not.  Never  again  so  long 
as  I  live.  You,  of  all  others,  shall  be  safe  from  my  ill 
temper,"  and  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  confirmation  of 
her  words. 

In  all  the  world  there  was  no  breast  freer  from  ill 
temper  than  hers ;  no  heart  more  gentle,  tender,  and 
trustful.  Her  nature  was  like  a  burning  spring.  It  was 
pure,  cool,  and  limpid  to  its  greatest  depths,  though  there 
was  fire  in  it. 

Die  did  not  consider  himself  obliged  to  release  Rita's 
hand  at  once,  and  as  she  evidently  thought  it  would  be 
impolite  to  withdraw  it,  there  is  no  telling  what  mistakes 
might  have  happened  had  not  Tom  appeared  upon  the 
scene. 

Tom  seated  himself  beside  Die  just  as  that  young  man 
dropped  Rita's  hand,  and  just  as  the  young  lady  moved  a 
little  way  toward  her  end  of  the  log. 

"You  are  home  early,"  remarked  Rita. 

"Yes,"  responded  Tom,  "Doug  Hill  was  there  —  the 
lubberly  pumpkin-head." 

No  man  of  honor  would  remain  in  a  young  lady's  parlor 
if  at  the  time  of  his  arrival  she  had  another  gentleman  vis 
itor  unless  upon  the  request  of  the  young  lady,  and  no 
insult  so  deep  and  deadly  could  be  offered  to  the  man  in 
possession  as  the  proffer  of  such  a  request  by  the  young 
lady  to  the  intruder. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  silence  Tom  remarked :  "  This 
night  reminds  me  of  the  night  I  come  from  Cincinnati  to 
Brookville  on  the  canal-boat.  Everything's  so  warm  and 
clear  like.  I  set  out  on  top  of  the  boat  and  seed  the  hills 
go  by." 

"  Did  the  hills  go  by  ? "  asked  Rita,  who  had  heard  the 
story  of  Tom's  Cincinnati  trip  many  times. 


58  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

"Well,  they  seemed  to  go  by,"  answered  Tom.  "Of 
course,  they  didn't  move.  It  was  the  boat.  But  I  jest 
seed  them  move  as  plain  as  I  see  that  cloud  up  yonder." 

That  Tom  had  not  profited  by  Billy  Little's  training  and 
his  mother's  mild  corrections  now  and  then  (for  the  Chief 
Justice  had  never  entirely  lost  the  habits  of  better  days), 
was  easily  discernible  in  his  speech.  Rita's  English,  like 
Die's  and  Billy  Little's,  was  corrupted  in  spots  by  evil 
communication  ;  but  Tom's  —  well,  Tom  was  no  small  part 
of  the  evil  communication  itself. 

Die  had  heard  the  Cincinnati  story  many  times,  and  when 
he  saw  symptoms  of  its  recurrence,  he  rose  and  said :  — 

"  Well,  Tom,  if  you  seed  the  hills  go  by,  you'll  seed  me 
go  by  if  you  watch,  for  I'm  going  home,"  and  with  a  good 
night  he  started  up  the  river  path,  leaving  Rita  and  her 
brother  Tom  seated  on  the  log. 

"  So  Doug  Hill  was  there  ? "  asked  Rita. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Tom  ;  "  and  how  any  girl  can  let  him 
kiss  her,  I  don't  know.  His  big  yaller  face  reminds  me  of 
the  under  side  of  a  mud-turtle." 

"  I  hope  Sukey  doesn't  allow  him  nor  any  one  else  to  kiss 
her,"  cried  Rita,  with  a  touch  of  indignant  remonstrance. 
Tom  laughed  as  if  to  say  that  he  could  name  at  least  one 
who  enjoyed  that  pleasant  privilege. 

Rita  was  at  that  time  only  sixteen  years  old,  and  had 
many  things  to  learn  about  the  doings  of  her  neighbors, 
which  one  would  wish  she  might  never  know.  The  Chief 
Justice  had  at  least  one  virtue :  she  knew  how  to  protect 
her  daughter.  No  young  man  had  ever  been  permitted  to 
"  keep  company  "  with  Rita,  and  she  and  her  mother  wanted 
none.  Die,  of  course,  had  for  years  been  a  constant  visitor; 
but  he,  as  you  know,  was  like  one  of  the  family.  Aside 
from  the  habit  of  Die's  visits,  and  growing  out  of  them, 
Madam  Bays  had  dim  outlines  of  a  future  purpose.  Die's 
father,  who  was  dead,  had  been  considered  well-to-do  among 


THE   SYCAMORE    DIVAN  59 

his  neighbors.  He  had  died  seized  of  four  "  eighties,"  all 
paid  for,  and  two-thirds  cleared  for  cultivation.  Eighty 
acres  of  cleared  bottom  land  was  looked  upon  as  a  fair 
farm.  One  might  own  a  thousand  acres  of  rich  soil  cov 
ered  with  as  fine  oak,  walnut,  and  poplar  as  the  world 
could  produce  and  might  still  be  a  poor  man,  though  the 
timber  in  these  latter  days  would  bring  a  fortune.  Cleared 
land  was  wealth  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  and  in  build 
ing  their  houses  the  settlers  used  woods  from  which  nowa 
days  furniture  is  made  for  royal  palaces.  Every  man  on 
Blue  might  have  said  with  Louis  XIV,  "  I  am  housed  like 
a  king."  Cleared  land  was  wealth,  and  Die,  upon  his 
mother's  death,  would  at  least  be  well  able  to  support  a 
wife.  The  Chief  Justice  knew  but  one  cause  for  tender 
ness  —  Tom.  When  Rita  was  passing  into  womanhood, 
and  developing  a  beauty  that  could  not  be  matched  on  all 
the  River  Blue,  she  began  to  assume  a  commercial  value 
in  her  mother's  eyes  that  might,  Madam  B.  thought  in  a 
dimly  conscious  fashion,  be  turned  to  Tom's  account. 
Should  Rita  marry  a  rich  man,  there  would  be  no  injustice 
—  justice,  you  know,  was  the  watchword  —  in  leaving  all 
the  Bays  estate  to  the  issue  male.  Therefore,  although 
Mrs.  Bays  was  not  at  all  ready  for  her  young  daughter  to 
receive  attention  from  any  man,  when  the  proper  time 
should  come,  Die  might  be  available  if  no  one  better 
offered,  and  Tom,  dear,  sweet,  Sir  Thomas  de  Triflin', 
should  then  have  all  that  his  father  and  mother  possessed, 
as  soon  as  they  could  with  decent  self-respect  die  and  get 
out  of  his  way. 

As  time  passed,  and  Rita's  beauty  grew  apace,  Mrs. 
Bays  began  to  feel  that  Die  with  his  four  "eighties  "  was 
not  a  price  commensurate  with  the  winsome  girl.  But  hav 
ing  no  one  else  in  mind,  she  permitted  his  visits  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  their  purpose,  and  hoped  that  chance  or  her 
confidential  friend,  Providence,  might  bring  a  nobler  prize 


60  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

within  range  of  the  truly  great  attractiveness  of  Tom's 
sister. 

Mrs.  Bays  knew  that  the  life  she  and  her  neighbors  were 
leading  was  poor  and  crude.  She  also  knew  that  men  of 
wealth  and  position  were  eagerly  seeking  rare  girls  of  Rita's 
type.  By  brooding  over  better  things  than  Die  could  offer, 
her  hope  grew  into  a  strong  desire,  and  with  Rita's  increas 
ing  beauty  this  motherly  desire  took  the  form  of  faith.  Still, 
Die's  visits  were  permitted  to  continue,  and  doubtless  would 
be  permitted  so  long  as  they  should  be  made  ostensibly  to 
the  family. 

Tom's  remarks  upon  Sukey  and  Sukey's  observations 
concerning  Die  had  opened  Rita's  eyes  to  certain  methods 
prevalent  among  laddies  and  lasses,  and  as  a  result  Sukey, 
for  the  time,  became  persona  non  grata  to  her  old-time 
friend.  Rita  was  not  at  the  time  capable  of  active  jeal 
ousy.  She  knew  Sukey  was  pretty  enough,  and,  she 
feared,  bold  enough  to  be  dangerous  in  the  matter  of  Die, 
but  she  trusted  him.  Sukey  certainly  was  prettily  bedecked 
with  the  pinkest  and  whitest  of  cheeks,  twinkling  dimples, 
and  sparkling  eyes;  but  for  real  beauty  she  was  not  in 
Rita's  class,  and  few  men  would  think  of  her  fleshly  charms 
twice  when  they  might  be  thinking  of  our  little  heroine. 

Thus  Tom  and  Sukey  became  fountain-heads  of  unhal 
lowed  knowledge  upon  subjects  concerning  which  every 
young  girl,  however  pure,  has  a  consuming  curiosity. 

Rita  had  heard  of  the  "  kissing  games  "  played  by  the 
youngsters,  and  a  few  of  the  oldsters,  too,  at  country  frol 
ics,  corn-huskings,  and  church  socials ;  but  as  I  have  told 
you,  the  level-headed  old  Chief  Justice  had  wisely  kept  her 
daughter  away  from  such  gatherings,  and  Rita  knew  little 
of  the  kissing,  and  never  telling  what  was  going  on  about 
her.  Tom  and  Sukey  had  thrown  light  upon  the  subject 
for  her,  and  she  soon  understood,  feared,  and  abhorred. 
Would  she  ever  pity  and  embrace  ? 


THE   DEBUTANTE 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE  DEBUTANTE 

A  YEAR   after  the  small   happenings  I   have   just 
related,  great  events  began  to  cluster  about  Die. 
They  were  truly  great  for  him  and  of  course  were 
great  for  Rita. 

Through  Billy  Little's  aid  Die  received  an  offer  from 
an  eastern  horse  buyer  to  lead  a  drove  of  horses  to  New 
York.  The  task  was  difficult,  and  required  a  man  of 
health,  strength,  judgment,  and  nerve.  The  trip  going 
would  require  two  months,  and  the  horses  must  be  kept 
together,  fed,  cared  for,  and,  above  all,  protected  night 
and  day  from  horse  thieves,  until  after  the  Alleghanies 
were  crossed.  The  horses  were  driven  loose  in  herds  of 
one  hundred  or  more.  Three  men  constituted  a  crew. 
In  this  instance  Die  was  to  be  in  charge,  and  two  rough 
horse-boys  would  be  his  assistants.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  to  drive  the  horses  over  the  fenceless  roads  and 
through  the  leagues  of  trackless  forest;  therefore,  they 
were  led.  The  men  would  take  turns  about  riding  in 
advance,  and  the  man  leading  would  continually  whistle 
a  single  shrill  note  which  the  horses  soon  learned  to  fol 
low.  Should  the  whistling  cease  for  a  moment,  the  horses 
would  stop  and  perhaps  stampede.  This  might  mean 
forty-eight  hours  of  constant  work  in  gathering  the  drove, 
with  perhaps  the  loss  of  one  or  more.  If  you  will,  for  one 
hour,  whistle  a  shrill  note  loud  enough  to  reach  the  ears 
of  a  herd  of  trampling,  neighing  horses,  you  will  discover 

63 


64  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

that  even  that  task,  which  is  the  smallest  part  of  horse 
"leading,"  is  an  exhausting  operation. 

The  work  was  hard,  but  the  pay  was  good,  and  Die  was 
delighted  with  the  opportunity.  One  of  its  greatest  attrac 
tions  to  him  was  the  fact  that  he  would  see  something  of 
the  world.  Billy, Little  urged  him  to  accept  the  offer. 

"  A  man,"  said  he,  "  estimates  his  own  stature  by  com 
paring  it  with  those  about  him,  and  the  most  fatal  mistake 
he  can  make  is  to  underestimate  his  size.  Self-conceit  is 
ugly,  but  it  never  injured  any  one.  Modesty  would  have 
ruined  Napoleon  himself.  The  measure  of  a  man,  like 
the  length  of  a  cloth-yard,  depends  upon  the  standard. 
Go  away  from  here,  Die.  Find  your  true  standard. 
Measure  yourself  and  return,  if  you  wish.  This  place  is 
as  good  as  another,  if  a  man  knows  himself ;  if  he  doesn't, 
he  is  apt  to  be  deceived  by  the  littleness  of  things  about 
him.  Yet  there  are  great  things  here,  too  —  greater,  in 
some  respects,  than  any  to  be  found  in  New  York ;  but  the 
great  things  here  are  possibilities.  Of  course,  possibilities 
are  but  the  raw  material.  They  must  be  manufactured  — 
achieved.  But  achievement,  my  boy,  achievement !  that's 
the  whole  thing,  after  all.  What  would  Caesar  Germani- 
cus  and  Napoleon  have  been  without  possibilities?  A 
ready-made  opportunity  is  a  good  thing  in  its  way,  but  it 
is  the  creation  of  opportunity  out  of  crude  possibilities 
that  really  marks  and  makes  the  man  and  stamps  the 
deed.  Any  hungry  fool  would  seize  the  opportunity  to 
eat  who  might  starve  if  he  had  to  make  his  bread.  Go 
out  into  the  world.  You  have  good  eyes.  It  will  not  take 
long  to  open  them.  When  they  are  opened,  come  back 
and  you  will  see  opportunities  here  that  will  make  you 
glad  you  are  alive." 

"But,  Billy  Little,"  replied  Die,  who  was  sitting  with 
Rita  on  the  sycamore  divan,  while  their  small  elderly 
friend  sat  upon  the  grass  facing  them,  "you  certainly 


THE   DEBUTANTE  65 

have  seen  the  world.  Your  eyes  were  opened  before  you 
came  here,  and  it  seems  to  me  your  learning  and  culture 
are  buried  here  among  the  possibilities  you  speak  of." 

"No,  Die,"  answered  Billy,  "you  see,  I — well,  I  ran 
away  from  —  from  many  things.  You  see,  you  and  I  are 
cast  in  different  moulds.  You  are  six  feet  tall,  physically 
and  temperamentally."  Rita  thought  Billy  was  the  most 
acute  observer  in  Christendom,  but  she  did  not  speak, 
save  with  her  eyes.  Those  eyes  nowadays  were  always 
talking. 

"  Six  feet  don't  amount  to  much,"  responded  Die. 
"  There  is  Doug  Hill,  who  is  six  feet  three,  with  no  more 
brains  than  a  catfish.  It  is  what's  at  the  top  of  the  six 
feet  that  counts.  You  have  more  at  the  top  of  your  five 
feet  four  than  the  tallest  man  on  Blue,  and  as  I  said,  you 
seem  to  be  buried  here.  Where  are  the  possibilities  for 
you,  Billy  Little?  And  if  you  can't  achieve  something 
great  —  poor  me  !  " 

"  There  are  different  possibilities  for  different  men.  I 
think,  for  example,  I  have  achieved  something  in  you. 
What  say  you,  Rita  ?  " 

The  girl  was  taken  unawares.  "  Indeed  you  have,  glori 
ous  —  splendid  —  that  is,  I  mean  you  have  achieved  some 
thing  great  in  all  of  us  whom  you  have  tried  to  influence. 
I  see  your  possibilities,  Billy  Little.  I  see  them  stamped 
upon  the  entire  Blue  River  settlement.  La  Salle  and 
Marquette,  of  whom  Die  read  to  me  from  your  book,  had 
the  same  sort  of  opportunities.  Their  field  was  broader, 
but  I  doubt  if  their  influence  will  be  more  lasting  than 
yours." 

"  Rather  more  conspicuous,"  laughed  Billy. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Rita,  "  your  achievements  will  not  be 
recorded.  Their  effect  will  probably  be  felt  by  all  of  us, 
and  the  achievement  must  be  your  only  reward." 

"  It  is  all  I  ask,"  returned  Billy.     Then,  after  a  pause, 


66  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

he  spoke  in  mock  reproof  to  Die,  "  Now,  hang  your  head 
in  shame." 

"  I  suppose  it's  my  turn,"  Die  replied. 

"  The  achievements  of  picturesque  men  only  should  be 
placarded  to  the  world,"  said  Billy.  "  The  less  said  about  a 
little  old  knot  like  me  the  better  for  —  better  for  the  knot." 

"You  are  not  a  knot,"  cried  Rita  indignantly. 

"Rita,"  said  Die,  "you  know  the  walnut  knot,  while  it 
shows  the  roughest  bark,  has  the  finest  grain  in  the  tree." 

"  I  am  going  home  if  you  don't  stop  that  sort  of  talk 
ing,"  said  Billy,  pleased  to  his  toes,  but  pretending  to  be 
annoyed. 

A  fortnight  before  Die's  intended  departure  for  New 
York  an  opportunity  presented  itself  of  which  the  young 
man,  after  due  consideration,  determined  to  take  advantage. 
He  walked  over  one  evening  to  see  Tom,  but,  as  usual, 
found  Rita.  After  a  few  minutes  in  which  to  work  his 
courage  up,  he  said :  — 

"There  is  to  be  a  church  social  at  Scott's  to-morrow 
night  —  the  Baptists.  I  wonder  if  you  would  like  —  that 
is,  would  want  to  —  would  be  willing  to  go  with  me?" 

"  I  would  be  glad  to  go,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  but  mother 
won't  let  me." 

"  We'll  go  in  and  ask  her,  if  you  wish,"  he  replied. 

"  There's  no  use,  but  we  can  try.  Perhaps  if  she  thinks 
I  don't  want  to  go,  she  will  consent." 

Into  the  house  they  went,  and  Die  made  his  wants  known 
to  the  head  of  the  family. 

"No,"  snapped  the  good  lady,  "she  can't  go.  Girls 
of  sixteen  and  seventeen  nowadays  think  they  are  young 
ladies." 

"  They  are  dull,  anyway,"  said  Rita,  referring  to  church 
socials.  "I  have  heard  they  are  particularly  dull  at 
Scott's  —  the  Baptists  are  so  religious.  Sukey  Yates  said 
they  did  nothing  but  preach  and  pray  and  sing  psalms  and 


THE    DEBUTANTE  67 

take  up  a  collection  at  the  last  social  Scott  gave.  It's 
just  like  church,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  anyway."  She 
had  never  been  to  a  church  social,  but  from  what  she  had 
heard  she  believed  them  to  be  bacchanalian  scenes  of  riot 
ous  enjoyment,  and  her  remarks  were  intended  to  deceive. 

"  You  should  not  speak  so  disrespectfully  of  the  church," 
said  the  Chief  Justice,  sternly.  "  The  Lord  will  punish  you 
for  it,  see  if  He  doesn't.  Since  I  think  about  it,  the  socials 
held  at  Scott's  are  true,  religious,  God-fearing  gatherings, 
and  you  shall  go  as  a  punishment  for  your  sacrilegious 
sneers.  Perhaps  if  you  listen  to  the  Word,  it  may  come 
back  after  many  days."  Margarita,  Sr.,  often  got  her 
Biblical  metaphors  mixed,  but  that  troubled  her  little. 
There  was,  she  thought,  virtue  in  scriptural  quotations, 
even  though  entirely  inapplicable  to  the  case  in  point 

"Come  for  her  to-morrow  evening,  Die,"  said  Mrs.  B. 
"She  shall  be  ready."  Then  turning  to  Rita:  "To  speak 
of  the  Holy  Word  in  that  manner !  You  shall  be  pun 
ished." 

Die  and  Rita  went  out  to  the  porch.  Die  laughed,  but 
the  girl  saw  nothing  funny. 

"  It  seems  to  me  just  as  if  I  had  told  a  story,"  she  said. 
"  One  may  act  a  story  as  easily  as  tell  it." 

"  Well,  you  are  to  be  punished,"  laughed  Die. 

"  But  you  know  I  want  to  go.  I  have  never  been  to  a 
social,  and  it  will  not  punish  me  to  go." 

"  Then  you  are  to  be  punished  by  going  with  me," 
returned  the  stalwart  young  fisherman.  She  looked  up  to 
him  with  a  flash  of  her  eyes  —  those  eyes  were  worse 
than  a  loose  tongue  for  tattling  —  and  said  :  — 

"That  is  true." 

Die,  who  was  fairly  boiling  with  pleasant  anticipations, 
went  to  town  next  day  and  boiled  over  on  Billy  Little. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  Rita  to  Scott's  social  this  evening," 
he  said. 


68  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

"  Ah,  indeed,"  responded  Billy ;  "  it's  her  first  time  out, 
isn't  it  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  I  envy  her,  by  George,  I  do,  and  I  envy  you,"  said 
Billy.  He  did  not  envy  Die ;  but  you  may  remember  my 
remarks  concerning  bachelor  hearts  and  their  unprotected 
condition  in  this  cruel  world.  There  may  be  pain  of  the 
sort  Billy  felt  without  either  envy  or  jealousy. 

"  Die,  I  have  a  mind  to  send  Rita  a  nice  ribbon  or  two 
for  to-night.  What  do  you  think  about  it  ? "  asked  Billy. 

"  She  would  be  delighted,"  answered  Die.  "  She  would 
accept  them  from  you,  but  not  from  me." 

"  There  is  no  flattery  in  that  remark,"  answered  Billy, 
with  a  touch  of  sharpness. 

"  Why,  Billy  Little,  what  do  you  suppose  I  meant  ? " 
asked  Die. 

"  I  know  you  spoke  the  truth.  She  would  accept  a 
present  from  the  little  old  knot,  but  would  refuse  it  from 
the  straight  young  tree." 

"  Why,  Billy  Little,  I  meant  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"Now,  not  another  word,"  interrupted  Billy.  "Give 
these  ribbons  to  her  when  you  ride  home,  and  tell  her  the 
knot  sends  them  to  the  sweetbrier."  Then  turning  his 
face  to  the  shelves  on  the  wall,  and  arranging  a  few  pieces 
of  goods,  he  hummed  under  his  breath  his  favorite  stanza, 
"  Maxwelton's  braes,"  and  paid  no  further  attention  to  his 
guest. 

Rita  came  out  as  Die  rode  up  to  the  gate.  He  did  not 
dismount,  but  handed  her  the  ribbons  across  the  fence, 
saying:  "Billy  Little  sends  you  these  for  to-night.  He 
said  they  were  from  the  knot  to  the  sweetbrier." 

The  girl's  suppressed  delight  had  been  troubling  her  all 
day.  Her  first  party,  her  first  escort,  and  that  escort  Die  ! 
What  more  could  a  girl  desire?  The  ribbons  were  too 
much.  And  somebody  was  almost  ready  to  weep  for  joy. 


THE   DEBUTANTE  69 

She  opened  the  little  package  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
When  she  felt  that  speech  was  entirely  safe,  she  said :  — 

"  The  little  package  is  as  prim  and  neat  as  Billy  Little 
himself.  Dear,  sweet,  old  Billy  Little." 

Die,  whose  heart  was  painfully  inflamed,  was  almost 
jealous  of  Billy,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  would  not  have  accepted  them  from 
me  ? " 

"Why  not?"  she  responded.  "Of  course  I  would." 
Her  eyes  grew  wide  when  she  looked  up  to  him  and  con 
tinued,  "  Did  you  get  them  for  me  and  tell  me  that  Billy 
Little  sent  them  ? " 

"No,"  answered  Die,  regretfully,  as  he  began  to  see 
possibilities,  even  on  Blue.  One  possibility,  at  least,  he 
saw  clearly  —  one  that  he  had  lost. 

"  It  was  more  than  a  possibility,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  rode  homeward.  "  It  was  a  ready-made  opportunity, 
and  I  did  not  see  it.  The  sooner  I  go  to  New  York  or 
some  place  else  and  get  my  eyes  opened,  the  better  it  will 
be  for  me." 

The  church  social  opened  with  a  long,  sonorous  prayer 
by  the  Baptist  preacher,  Mr.  Wetmore.  Then  followed  a 
psalm,  which  in  turn  was  followed  by  a  "few  words." 
After  the  few  words,  Rev.  Wetmore  said  in  soft,  concilia 
tory  tones,  "  Now,  brethren,  if  Deacon  Moore  will  be  so 
kind  as  to  pass  the  hat,  we  will  receive  the  offering." 

Wetmore  was  not  an  ordained  minister,  nor  was  he 
recognized  by  the  church  to  which  he  claimed  to  belong. 
He  was  one  of  the  many  itinerant  vagabonds  who  foisted 
themselves  upon  isolated  communities  solely  for  the  sake 
of  the  "offering." 

Deacon  Moore  passed  his  hat,  and  when  he  handed  it  to 
Wetmore  that  worthy  soul  counted  out  two  large  copper 
pennies.  There  were  also  in  the  hat  two  brass  buttons 


7o  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

which  Tom,  much  to  Sukey's  amusement,  had  torn  from 
his  clothing  for  the  purpose  of  an  offering.  Sukey  laughed 
so  inordinately  at  Tom's  extravagant  philanthropy  that  she 
convinced  De  Triflin'  he  was  a  very  funny  fellow  indeed ; 
but  she  brought  upon  her  pretty  flaxen  head  a  reprimand 
from  Wetmore. 

"  Undue  levity,"  said  he,  "  ill  becomes  even  frivolous 
youth  at  this  moment.  Later  you  will  have  ample  oppor 
tunity  to  indulge  your  mirth  ;  but  for  the  present,  the  Lord's 
business  — "  at  the  word  "business"  he  received  the  hat 
from  Deacon  Moore,  and  looked  eagerly  into  it  for  the 
offering.  Disappointment,  quite  naturally,  spread  itself 
over  his  sallow  face,  and  he  continued :  "  Buttons  do  not 
constitute  an  acceptable  offering  to  the  Lord.  He  can 
have  no  use  for  them.  I  think  that  during  the  course  of 
my  life  work  in  the  vineyard  I  have  received  a  million  but 
tons  of  which  I  —  I  mean  the  Lord  —  can  have  no  possi 
ble  use.  If  these  buttons  had  been  dollars  or  shillings,  or 
even  pennies,  think  of  the  blessings  they  would  have 
brought  from  above." 

The  reverend  man  spoke  several  times  with  excusable 
asperity  of  "buttons,"  and  after  another  psalm  and  a 
sounding  benediction  the  religious  exercises  were  finished, 
and  the  real  business  of  the  evening,  the  spelling-bee  and 
the  kissing  games,  began. 

At  these  socials  many  of  the  old  folks  took  part  in  the 
spelling-bee,  after  which  they  usually  went  home  —  an 
event  eagerly  awaited  by  the  young  people. 

There  was  but  one  incident  in  the  spelling-bee  that 
touched  our  friends,  and  I  shall  pass  briefly  over  that  part 
of  the  entertainment  preceding  it.  The  class,  ranging  in 
years  from  those  who  lisped  in  youth  to  those  who  lisped  in 
age,  stood  in  line  against  the  wall,  and  Wetmore,  spelling- 
book  in  hand,  stood  in  front  of  them  to  "  give  out "  the 
words.  It  was  not  considered  fair  to  give  out  a  word  not 


THE    DEBUTANTE  71 

in  the  spelling-book  until  the  spelling  and  "  syllabling  "  of 
sentences  was  commenced.  All  words  were  syllabled,  but 
to  spell  and  syllable  a  sentence  was  not  an  easy  task,  and  by 
the  time  sentences  were  reached  the  class  usually  had  dwin 
dled  down  to  three  or  four  of  the  best  spellers.  Of  course, 
one  who  missed  a  word  left  the  class.  Our  friends  —  Billy 
Little,  Die,  Rita,  and  Sukey  Yates  —  were  in  the  contest. 

The  first  word  given  out  was  metropolitan,  and  it  fell  to 
Douglas  of  the  Hill.  He  began:  "  M-e-t  —  there's  your 
met;  r-o  —  there's  your  ro  ;  there's  your  metro;  p-o-1  — 
there's  your  pol ;  there's  your  ro-pol ;  there's  your  met-ro- 
pol;  i  —  there's  your  i;  there's  your  pol-i;  there's  your 
ro-pol-i ;  there's  your  met-ro-pol-i ;  t-e-n  —  there's  your  —  " 
"  t-a-n,"  cried  the  girl  next  to  him,  who  happened  to  be 
Sukey  Yates,  and  Douglas  stepped  down  and  out. 

A  score  or  more  of  words  were  then  spelled  without  an 
error,  until  Constantinople  fell  to  the  lot  of  an  elderly  man 
who  stood  by  Rita.  He  began :  "  C-o-n  —  there's  your  Con ; 
s-t-a-n  —  there's  your  stan ;  there's  your  Con-stan ;  t-i  — 
there's  your  ti ;  there's  your  stan-ti ;  there's  your  Con-stan-ti; 
n-o  —  there's  your  no;  there's  your  ti-no;  there's  your 
stan-ti-no;  there's  your  Con-stan-ti-no ;  p-e-1  —  there's 
your  pell ;  there's  your  no —  —  "  p-l-e  —  there's  your  pell " 
(so  pronounced) ;  "  there's  your  Con-stan-ti-no-ple,"  chimed 
Rita,  and  her  elderly  neighbor  took  a  chair.  Others  of 
the  class  dropped  out,  leaving  only  our  four  acquaintances, 
—  Die,  Billy,  Sukey,  and  Rita.  Die  went  out  on  "a"  in 
place  of  "i"  in  collectible,  Sukey  turning  him  down. 
Rita  had  hoped  he  would  win  the  contest  and  had  de 
termined,  should  it  narrow  down  to  herself  and  him,  to 
miss  intentionally,  if  need  be.  After  Die  had  taken  a 
chair,  judgment  fell  to  and  upon  Sukey.  She  began 
"j-u-d-g-e —  there's  your  judge;"  whereupon  Billy  Little 
said,  "  Sink  the  e,"  and  Sukey  sank,  leaving  Billy  Little 
and  Rita  standing  against  the  wall,  as  if  they  were  about 


72  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

to  be  married.  Billy,  of  course,  was  only  awaiting  a  good 
opportunity  to  fail  in  order  that  the  laurels  of  victory 
might  rest  upon  Rita's  brow. 

"We  will  now  spell  and  syllable  a  few  sentences,"  said 
Wetmore.  "Mr.  Little,  I  give  you  the  sentence,  'An 
abominable  bumblebee  with  his  tail  cut  off.'  " 

It  must  be  remembered  that  in  spelling  these  words  and 
sentences  each  syllable  was  pronounced  separately  and 
roundly.  B-o-m  was  a  full  grown,  sonorous  bom.  B-u-m 
was  a  rolling  bum,  and  b-l-e  was  pronounced  bell  with  a 
strong,  full,  ringing,  liquid  sound.  The  following  italics 
show  the  emphasis.  Billy  slowly  repeated  the  sentence 
and  began :  — 

"A-n —  there's  your  an;  a — there's  your  a;  there's 
your  an-a ;  b-o-m — there's  your  bom;  there's  your  #-bom ; 
there's  your  an-'&.-bom ;  i  —  there's  your  i;  there's  your 
bom-\ ;  there's  your  tf-bom-i ;  there's  your  <2#-a-bom-i ;  n-a 
—  there's  your  na;  there's  your  z'-na;  there's  your  bom-\- 
na ;  there's  your  a-\)om-i-na ;  there's  your  an-a.-bom-i-na  ; 
b-l-e — there's  your  bell;  there's  your  na-bell;  there's 
your  z'-na-bell ;  there's  your  bom-\-na-\>Q\\ ;  there's  your 
<2-bom-i-«tf-bell ;  there's  your  an-a-bom-i-na-bell ;  b-u-m  — 
there's  your  bum  ;  there's  your  fo//-bum  ;  there's  your  na- 
bell-bum ;  there's  your  z-na-&?//-bum ;  there's  your  bom-i- 
na-bell-dum ;  there's  your  a-\>om-i-na-bell-bum ;  there's 
your  an-d.-bom-i-na-be.ll-dum ;  b-l-e  —  there's  your  bell; 
there's  your  bum-bell;  there's  your  bell-b\im-bell ;  there's 
your  na-bell-bum-be.il;  there's  your  z-na-bell-^w-bell ; 
there's  your  bom-i-Ma-bell-bum-bell ;  there's  your  #-bom-i- 
#<z-bell-£zm-bell ;  there's  your  an-a.-b0m-i-na-'bQ\l-bum-bell ; 
b-e-e  —  there's  your  bee;  there's  your  &?//-bee;  there's 
your  fom-bell-bee;  there's  your  <W/-bum-fo//-bee ;  there's 
your  na-bo\\-bum-bell-\)QQ\  there's  your  *'-na-bell-£«w-bell- 
bee;  there's  your  fo#z-i-na-&r//-£z/w-bell-bee ;  there's  your 
rf-bom-i-«0-bell-^w-bell-bee ;  there's  your  an-a-bom-i-na- 


THE   DEBUTANTE  73 

\)e.\\-buin-bell-\>QQ ;  w-i-t-h  —  h-i-s  —  there's  your  with-his ; 
there's  your  &r- with-his  ;  there's  your  ^//-bee-with-his ; 
there's  your  ^z/w-bell-bee-with-his ;  there's  your  ^//-bum- 
&?//-bee-with-his ;  there's  your  TZtf-bell-fom-bell-bee-with-his ; 
there's  your  z-na-^//-$«w-bell-&?<?-with-his ;  there's  your 
fo^-i-T/a-bell-^w-bell-bee-with-his ;  there's  your  a-bom-i- 
na-^7/-^«7/z-bell-bee-with-his ;  there's  your  an-^-bom-i-na- 
bell-^z/wz-bell-bee-with-his  ;  t-a-l-e — there's  your — "  But 
Rita  chimed  in  at  once:  "T-a-i-1 —  there's  your  tail; 
there's  your  wzY/&-his-tail :  there's  your  ^-with-his-tail ; 
there's  your  ^//-bee-with-his-taz'/;  there's  your  ^w-bell- 
bee-with-his-tail ;  there's  your  ^//-bum-bell-bee-with-his- 
tail ;  there's  your  «<2-bell-^?/w-bell-bee-with-his-tail ;  there's 
your  z-na-&?//-bum-&?//-bee-with-his-tail;  there's  your  bont- 
i-na-^//-bum-^//-bee-with-his-tail ;  there's  your  a-bom-i- 
/z<7-bell-3z/w-bell-bee-with-his-tail;  there's  your  an-a.-bom-\- 
««-bell-^?/^-bell-bee-with-his-tail;  c-u-t  —  there's  your  cut; 
there's  your  tazY-cut ;  there's  your  wzV/^-his-tail-cut ;  there's 
your  <^-with-his-tail-cut ;  there's  your  /W/-bee-with-his-tail- 
cut ;  there's  your  $«w-^//-bee-with-his-tail-cut ;  there's 
your  ^//-bum-^//-bee-with-his-tail-cut ;  there's  your  na-bell- 
fowz-bell-bee-with-his-tail-cut ;  there's  your  i-nz-bell-butn- 
bell-bee-with-his-toz7-cut ;  there's  your  bom-\-na-\>e\\-bum-\)Q\\- 
&r-with-his-ta/7-cut ;  there's  your  «-bom-i-««-^//-bum-^//- 
bee-with-his-tail-«//;  there's  your  an-a.-&om-i-na-bell-fotm- 
^//-bee-with-his-tail-cut ;  o-f-f  —  there's  your  off;  there's 
your  cut-off ;  there's  your  Azz7-cut-off ;  there's  your  with- 
/zzj-tail-cut-off ;  there's  your  ^-with-his-tail-cut-off;  there's 
your  ^//-bee-with-his-tail-cut-off ;  there's  your  bum-be i '/-bee- 
with-his-tail-cut-off ;  there's  your  &?//-bum-^//-bee-with-his- 
tail-cut-off ;  there's  your  «^-bell-^w-bell-bee-with-his-tail- 
cut-off ;  there's  your  z-na-^//-bum-^//-bee-with-his-tail-cut- 
off ;  there's  your  ^^M-i-««-bell-(5z/w-bell-^^-with-his-tail-cut- 
off ;  there's  your  tf-bom-i-/ztf-bell-£zm-bell-bee-with-his-tail- 
cut-off;  there's  your  #?z- 


74  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

his-tail-cut-^,"  and  Rita  took  her  seat,  filled  with  triumph, 
save  for  the  one  regret  that  Die  had  not  won. 

Many  of  the  old  folks,  including  Billy  Little,  departed 
when  the  bee  closed,  and  a  general  clamor  went  up  for  the 
kissing  games  to  begin. 

Rita  declined  to  take  part  in  the  kissing  games,  and  sat 
against  the  wall  with  several  other  young  ladies  who  had 
no  partners.  To  Die  she  gave  the  candid  reason  that  she 
did  not  want  to  play,  and  he  was  glad. 

Doug  Hill,  who,  in  common  with  every  other  young  man 
on  the  premises,  ardently  desired  Rita's  presence  in  the 
game,  said :  — 

"  Oh,  come  in,  Rita.  Don't  be  so  stuck  up.  It  won't 
hurt  you  to  be  kissed."  Doug  was  a  bold,  devil-may-care 
youth,  who  spoke  his  mind  freely  upon  all  occasions.  He 
was  of  enormous  size,  and  gloried  in  the  fact  that  he  was 
the  neighborhood  bully  and  very,  very  "tough."  Doug 
would  have  you  know  that  Doug  would  drink;  Doug 
would  gamble ;  Doug  would  fight.  He  tried  to  create 
the  impression  that  he  was  very  bad  indeed,  and  suc 
ceeded.  He  would  go  to  town  Saturdays,  "  fill  up,"  as  he 
called  getting  drunk,  and  would  ride  furiously  miles  out  of 
his  way  going  home  that  he  might  pass  the  houses  of  his 
many  lady-loves,  and  show  them  by  yells  and  oaths  what 
a  rollicking  blade  he  was.  The  reputation  thus  acquired 
won  him  many  a  smile ;  for,  deplore  the  fact  as  we  may, 
there's  a  drop  of  savage  blood  still  alive  in  the  feminine 
heart  that  does  not  despise  depravity  in  man  as  it  really 
should. 

"Come  into  the  game,"  cried  Doug,  taking  Rita  by  the 
arm,  and  dragging  her  toward  the  centre  of  the  room. 

"  I  don't  want  to  play,"  cried  the  girl.  "  Please  let  loose 
of  my  arms ;  you  hurt  me,"  but  Doug  continued  to  drag 
her  toward  the  ring  of  players  that  was  forming,  and  she 
continued  to  resist.  Doug  persisted,  and  after  a  moment 


THE   DEBUTANTE 


75 


of  struggling  she  called  out,  "  Die,  Die !  "  She  had  been 
accustomed  since  childhood  to  call  upon  that  name  in  time 
of  trouble,  and  had  always  found  help.  Die  would  not 
have  interfered  had  not  Rita  called,  but  when  she  did  he 
responded  at  once. 

"  Let  her  alone,  Hill,"  said  Die,  as  pleasantly  as  pos 
sible  under  the  circumstances.  "  If  she  doesn't  want  to 
play,  she  doesn't  have  to." 

"You  go  to  —  "  cried  Doug.  "Maybe  you  think  you 
can  run  over  me,  you  stuck-up  Mr.  Proper." 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  answered 
Die;  "but  if  you  don't  let  loose  of  Rita's  arm,  I'll  — " 

"  What  will  you  do  ? "  asked  Doug,  laughing  uproari 
ously. 

For  a  moment  Die  allowed  himself  to  grow  angry,  and 
said,  "  I'll  knock  that  pumpkin  off  your  shoulders,"  but 
at  once  regretted  his  words. 

Doug  thought  Die's  remark  very  funny,  and  intimated  as 
much.  Then  he  bowed  his  head  in  front  of  our  hero  and 
said,  "  Here  is  the  pumpkin ;  hit  it  if  you  dare." 

Die  restrained  an  ardent  desire,  and  Doug  still  with  bowed 
head  continued,  "  I'll  give  you  a  shillin'  if  you'll  hit  it, 
and  if  you  don't,  I'll  break  your  stuck-up  face." 

Die  did  not  accept  the  shilling,  which  was  not  actually 
tendered  in  lawful  coin,  but  stepped  back  from  Doug  that 
he  might  be  prepared  for  the  attack  he  expected.  After 
waiting  what  he  considered  to  be  a  reasonable  time  for 
Die  to  accept  his  offer,  Doug  started  toward  our  hero, 
looking  very  ugly  and  savage.  Die  was  strong  and  brave, 
but  he  seemed  small  beside  his  bulky  antagonist,  and  Rita, 
frightened  out  of  all  sense  of  propriety,  ran  to  her  cham 
pion,  and  placing  her  back  against  his  breast,  faced 
Doug  with  fear  and  trembling.  The  girl  was  not  tall 
enough  by  many  inches  to  protect  Die's  face  from  the  break 
ing  Doug  had  threatened ;  but  what  she  lacked  in  height 


76  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

she  made  up  in  terror,  and  she  looked  so  "skeert,"  as 
Doug  afterwards  said,  that  he  turned  upon  his  heel  with 
the  remark :  — 

"  That's  all  right.  I  was  only  joking.  We  don't  want 
no  fight  at  a  church  social,  do  we,  Die  ?  " 

"I  don't  particularly  want  to  fight  any  place,"  replied 
Die,  glad  that  the  ugly  situation  had  taken  a  pleasant  turn. 

"  Reckon  you  don't,"  returned  Doug,  uproariously,  and 
the  game  proceeded. 

Partly  from  disinclination,  and  partly  because  he  wanted 
to  talk  to  Rita,  Die  did  not  at  first  enter  the  game,  but  dur 
ing  an  intermission  Sukey  whispered  to  him  :  — 

"We  are  going  to  play  Drop  the  Handkerchief,  and  if 
you'll  come  in  I'll  drop  it  behind  you  every  time,  and  —  " 
here  the  whispers  became  very  low  and  soft,  "  I'll  let 
you  catch  me,  too.  We'll  make  pumpkin-head  sick." 

The  game  of  skill  known  as  "  Drop  the  Handkerchief" 
was  played  in  this  fashion  :  a  circle  of  boys  and  girls  was 
formed  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  each  person  facing  the 
centre.  One  of  the  number  was  chosen  "It."  "It's" 
function  was  to  walk  or  run  around  the  circle  and  drop  the 
handkerchief  behind  the  chosen  one.  If  "  It "  happened  to 
be  a  young  man,  the  chosen  one,  of  course,  was  a  young 
woman  who  immediately  started  in  pursuit.  If  she  caught 
the  young  man  before  he  could  run  around  the  circle  to  the 
place  she  had  vacated,  he  must  deposit  a  forfeit,  to  be  re 
deemed  later  in  the  evening.  In  any  case  she  became  the 
next  "  It."  A  young  lady  "  It "  of  course  dropped  the 
handkerchief  behind  a  young  man,  and  equally,  of  course, 
started  with  a  scream  of  frightened  modesty  around 
the  circle  of  players,  endeavoring  to  reach,  if  possible,  the 
place  of  sanctuary  left  vacant  by  the  young  man.  He 
started  in  pursuit,  and  if  he  caught  her — there  we  draw 
the  veil.  If  the  young  lady  were  anxious  to  escape,  it  was 
often  possible  for  her  to  do  so.  But  thanks  to  Providence, 


THE   DEBUTANTE 


77 


all  hearts  were  not  so  obdurate  as  Rita's.  I  would  say, 
however,  in  palliation  of  the  infrequency  of  escapes,  that 
it  was  looked  upon  as  a  serious  affront  for  a  young  lady  to 
run  too  rapidly.  In  case  she  were  caught  and  refused  to 
pay  the  forfeit,  her  act  was  one  of  deadly  insult  gratui 
tously  offered  in  full  view  of  friends  and  acquaintances. 

Die  hesitated  to  accept  Sukey's  invitation,  though,  in 
truth,  it  would  have  been  inviting  to  any  man  of  spirit. 
Please  do  not  understand  me  to  say  that  Die  was  a  second 
Joseph,  nor  that  he  was  one  who  would  run  away  from  a 
game  of  any  sort  because  a  pretty  Miss  Potiphar  or  two 
happened  to  be  of  the  charmed  and  charming  circle. 

He  had  often  been  in  the  games,  and  no  one  had  ever 
impugned  his  spirit  of  gallantry  by  accusing  him  of  un 
seemly  neglect  of  the  beautiful  Misses  P.  His  absence 
from  this  particular  game  was  largely  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  right  Miss  Potiphar  was  sitting  against  the  wall. 

A  flush  came  to  Rita's  cheek,  and  she  moved  uneasily 
when  she  saw  Sukey  whispering  to  Die ;  but  he  did  not 
suspect  that  Rita  cared  a  straw  what  Sukey  said.  Neither 
did  it  occur  to  him  that  Rita  would  wish  him  to  remain 
out  of  the  game.  He  could,  if  he  entered  the  game, 
make  Doug  Hill  "  sick,"  as  Sukey  had  suggested,  and 
that  was  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished.  He 
did  not  wish  to  subject  himself  to  the  charge  of  ungal- 
lantry ;  and  Sukey  was,  as  you  already  know,  fair  to 
look  upon,  and  her  offer  was  as  generous  as  she  could 
make  under  the  circumstances.  So  he  chose  a  young 
lady,  left  Rita  by  the  wall,  and  entered  the  game. 

Doug  Hill  happened  to  be  "  It "  and  dropped  the  hand 
kerchief  behind  Sukey,  whereupon  that  young  lady  walked 
leisurely  around  the  circle,  making  no  effort  to  capture  the 
Redoubtable.  Such  apathy  was  not  only  an  infringement 
of  the  etiquette  of  the  game,  but  might,  if  the  injured  party 
were  one  of  high  spirits,  be  looked  upon  as  an  insult. 


78  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

Sukey  then  became  "  It,"  and,  dropping  the  handker 
chief  behind  Die,  deliberately  waited  for  him  to  catch 
her ;  when,  of  course,  a  catastrophe  ensued.  Meantime, 
the  wall  was  growing  uncomfortable  to  Rita.  She  had 
known  in  a  dimly  conscious  way  that  certain  things  al 
ways  happened  at  country  frolics,  but  to  see  them  startled 
her,  and  she  began  to  feel  very  miserable.  Her  tender 
heart  fluttered  piteously  with  a  hundred  longings,  chief 
among  which  was  the  desire  to  prevent  further  catas 
trophes  between  Die  and  Sukey. 

Compared  to  Sukey,  there  was  no  girl  in  the  circle 
at  all  entitled  to  be  ranked  in  the  Potiphar  class  of 
beauty.  So,  when  Die  succeeded  Sukey  as  "  It,"  he 
dropped  the  handkerchief  behind  her.  Then  she  again 
chose  Die,  and  in  turn  became  the  central  figure  in  a 
catastrophe  that  was  painful  to  the  girl  by  the  wall.  If 
Rita  had  been  in  ignorance  of  her  real  sentiments  for 
Die,  that  ignorance  had,  within  the  last  few  minutes, 
given  place  to  a  knowledge  so  luminous  that  it  was 
almost  blinding.  The  room  seemed  to  become  intensely 
warm.  Meantime  the  play  went  on,  and  the  process 
of  making  Doug  "  sick "  continued  with  marked  success. 
Sukey  always  favored  Die,  and  he  returned  in  kind. 
This  alternation,  which  was  beyond  all  precedent,  soon 
aroused  a  storm  of  protests. 

"  If  you  want  to  play  by  yourselves,"  cried  Tom,  "  why 
don't  you  go  off  by  yourselves  ?  " 

"Yes,"  cried  the  others;  "if  you  can't  play  fair,  get  out 
of  the  game." 

The  order  of  events  was  immediately  changed,  but  oc 
casionally  Sukey  broke  away  from  time-honored  prece 
dent  and  repeated  her  favors  to  Die.  Doug  was  rapidly 
growing  as  "sick"  as  his  most  inveterate  enemy  could 
have  desired.  There  was  another  person  in  the  room 
who  was  also  very  wretched  —  one  whom  Die  would  not 


THE   DEBUTANTE 


79 


have  pained  for  all  the  Sukey  Potiphars  in  Egypt.  The 
other  person  was  not  only  pained,  she  was  grieved,  con 
fused,  frightened,  desperate.  She  feared  that  she  would 
cry  out  and  ask  Dick  not  to  favor  Sukey.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  do,  nor  what  she  might  be  led  to  do,  if 
matters  continued  on  their  present  course. 

Soon  after  Tom's  reprimand,  Sukey  found  the  duty  of 
dropping  the  handkerchief  again  devolving  upon  her 
pretty  self.  She  longed  with  all  her  heart  to  drop  it 
behind  Die ;  but,  fearing  the  wrath  of  her  friends,  she 
concluded  to  choose  the  man  least  apt  to  arouse  antago 
nism  in  Die's  breast.  She  would  choose  one  whom  he 
knew  she  despised,  and  would  trust  to  luck  and  her  swift 
little  feet  to  take  her  around  the  circle  before  the  dropee 
could  catch  her. 

Wetmore  had  been  an  active  member,  though  a  passive 
participant,  in  the  game,  since  its  beginning.  When  a 
young  lady  "  It "  walked  back  of  him,  he  would  eagerly 
watch  her  approach,  and  when  she  passed  him,  as  all  did, 
he  would  turn  his  face  after  her  and  hope  for  better  things 
from  the  next.  Repeated  disappointments  had  lulled  his 
vigil,  and  when  Sukey,  the  girl  of  all  others  for  whom  he 
had  not  hoped,  dropped  the  sacred  linen  behind  his  rev 
erend  form,  he  was  so  startled  that  he  did  not  seize  the 
precious  moment.  He  was  standing  beside  Doug  Hill, 
and  the  handkerchief  fell  almost  between  the  two.  It 
was  clearly  intended  for  his  reverence  ;  but  when  he  failed 
instantly  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  situation,  the 
Douglas,  most  alert  of  men,  resolved  to  appropriate  the 
opportunity  to  himself.  At  the  same  moment  Brother 
W.  also  determined  to  embrace  it,  and,  if  possible,  "  It." 
Each  stooped  at  the  same  instant,  and  their  heads  collided. 

"  Let  it  alone,  parson,  it's  for  me,"  cried  the  Douglas. 

Parson  did  not  answer,  but  reached  out  his  hand  for  the 
coveted  prize.  Thereupon  Douglas  pushed  him  backward, 


80  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

causing  him  to  be  seated  with  great  violence  upon  the 
floor.  At  that  unfortunate  moment  Sukey,  who  had 
taken  speed  from  eagerness,  completed  her  trip  around 
the  circle,  and  being  unable  to  stop,  fell  headlong  over  the 
figure  of  the  self-made  parson.  She  had  not  seen  Doug's 
part  in  the  transaction,  and  being  much  disturbed  in  mind 
and  dress,  turned  upon  poor  Wetmore  and  flung  at  the 
worthy  shepherd  the  opprobrious  words,  "You  fool." 

When  we  consider  the  buttons  in  the  offering,  together 
with  Sukey 's  unjust  and  biting  words,  we  cannot  help  be 
lieving  that  Wetmore  had  been  born  under  an  unlucky 
star. 

One's  partner  in  this  game  was  supposed  to  favor  one 
now  and  then,  when  opportunity  presented;  but  Wetmore's 
partner,  Miss  Tompkinson,  having  waited  in  vain  for 
favors  from  that  gentleman,  quitted  the  game  when  Sukey 
called  him,  "  You  fool."  Wetmore  thought,  of  course,  he 
also  would  be  compelled  to  drop  out ;  but,  wonder  of  won 
ders,  Rita,  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  room,  rose  to  her 
feet  and  said  :  — 

"  I'll  take  your  place,  Miss  Tompkinson."  She  knew 
that  if  she  were  in  the  game,  Sukey's  reign  would  end,  and 
she  had  reached  the  point  of  perturbation  where  she  was 
willing  to  do  anything  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  certain 
painful  happenings.  She  knew  that  she  should  not  take 
part  in  the  game,  —  it  was  not  for  such  as  her,  —  but  she 
was  confused,  desperate,  and  "  didn't  care."  She  modestly 
knew  her  own  attractions.  Every  young  man  in  the 
circle  was  a  friend  of  Tom's,  and  had  at  some  time  mani 
fested  a  desire  to  be  a  friend  to  Tom's  sister.  Tom  was 
fairly  popular  for  his  own  sake,  but  his  exceeding  radiance 
was  borrowed.  The  game  could  not  be  very  wicked, 
thought  Rita,  since  it  was  encouraged  by  the  church  ;  but 
.even  if  it  were  wicked,  she  determined  to  take  possession 
of  her  own  in  the  person  of  Die.  Out  of  these  several 


'SHE    FLUNG   AT  THE    WORTHY    SHEPHERD   THE   Ol'l'ROliKIOUS   WORDS, 
'YOU    FOOL.'" 


THE   DEBUTANTE  83 

impulses  and  against  her  will  came  the  words,  "  I'll  take 
your  place,  Miss  Tompkinson,"  and  almost  before  she  was 
aware  of  what  she  had  done  she  was  standing  with  fiercely 
throbbing  pulse,  a  member  of  the  forbidden  circle. 

As  Rita  had  expected,  the  handkerchief  soon  fell  behind 
her,  and  without  the  least  trouble  she  caught  the  young 
fellow  who  had  dropped  it,  for  the  man  did  not  live  who 
could  run  from  her.  The  pledge,  a  pocket-knife,  was  de 
posited,  and  Rita  became  a  trembling,  terrified  "It."  What 
to  do  with  the  handkerchief  she  did  not  know,  but  she 
started  desperately  around  the  circle.  After  the  fourth  or 
fifth  trip  the  players  began  to  laugh.  Die's  heart  was  doing 
a  tremendous  business,  and  he  felt  that  life  would  be  worth 
less  if  the  handkerchief  should  fall  from  Rita's  hand  behind 
any  one  but  him.  Meanwhile  the  frightened  girl  walked 
round  and  round  the  circle,  growing  more  confused  with 
every  trip. 

"  Drop  it,  Rita,"  cried  Doug  Hill,  "  or  you'll  drop." 

"  She's  getting  tired,"  said  another. 

"  See  how  warm  she  is,"  remarked  gentle  Tom. 

"  Somebody  fan  her,"  whispered  Sukey. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  want  to  play,"  said  Rita,  whose 
cheeks  were  burning.  A  chorus  of  protests  came  from 
all  save  Die ;  so  she  took  up  her  burden  again  and  of 
course  must  drop  it.  "  After  another  long  weary  walk  an 
inspiration  came  to  her ;  she  would  drop  the  handkerchief 
behind  Tom.  She  did  so.  Tom  laughed,  and  all  agreed 
with  one  accord  that  it  was  against  the  rules  of  the  game 
to  drop  the  handkerchief  behind  a  brother  or  sister.  Then 
Rita  again  took  up  her  burden,  which  by  that  time  was  a 
heavy  one  indeed.  She  had  always  taken  her  burdens  to 
Die,  so  she  took  this  one  to  him  and  dropped  it. 

"  I  knew  she  would,"  screamed  every  one,  and  Rita 
started  in  dreadful  earnest  on  her  last  fatal  trip  around 
the  circle.  A  moment  before  the  circle  had  been  too  small, 


84  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

but  now  it  seemed  interminable,  and  poor  Rita  found  her 
self  in  Die's  strong  arms  before  she  was  halfway  home. 
She  almost  hated  him  for  catching  her.  She  did  not  take 
into  consideration  the  facts  that  she  had  invited  him  and 
that  it  would  have  been  ungallant  had  he  permitted  her  to 
escape,  but  above  all,  she  did  not  know  the  desire  in  his 
heart.  She  had  surprised  and  disappointed  him  by  enter 
ing  the  game  ;  but  since  it  was  permitted,  he  would  profit 
by  the  surprise  and  snatch  a  joyful  moment  from  his  dis 
appointment.  But  another  surprise  awaited  him.  When 
a  young  lady  was  caught  a  certain  degree  of  resistance, 
purely  for  form's  sake,  was  expected,  but  usually  the  young 
lady  would  feel  aggrieved,  or  would  laugh  at  the  young 
man  were  the  resistance  taken  seriously.  When  Die 
caught  Rita  there  was  one  case,  at  least,  where  the  resist 
ance  was  frantically  real.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  supposed  he  would  make  no  effort  to  remove 
them.  She  was  mistaken,  he  acted  upon  the  accepted 
theories  of  the  game.  She  was  a  baby  in  strength  com 
pared  with  Die,  and  he  easily  held  her  hands  while  he 
bent  her  head  backward  till  her  upturned  face  was  within 
easy  reach. 

"  Don't  kiss  me,"  she  cried. 

There  was  no  sham  in  her  words,  and  Die,  recognizing 
the  fact,  released  her  at  once  and  she  walked  sullenly  to  a 
chair.  According  to  the  rude  etiquette  of  the  time,  she 
had  insulted  him. 

There  had  been  so  many  upheavals  in  the  game  that  the 
trouble  between  Die  and  Rita  brought  it  to  a  close. 

Die  was  wounded,  and  poor  Rita  felt  that  now  she  had 
driven  him  from  her  forever.  Her  eyes  followed  him 
about  the  room  with  wistful  longing,  and  although  they 
were  eloquent  enough  to  have  told  their  piteous  little  story  to 
one  who  knew  anything  about  the  language  of  great  tender 
eyes,  they  spoke  nothing  but  reproachfulness  to  Die.  He 


THE    DEBUTANTE  85 

did  not  go  near  her,  but  after  a  time  she  went  to  him  and 
said :  — 

"  I  believe  I  will  go  home ;  but  I  am  not  afraid  to  go 
alone,  and  you  need  not  go  with  me  —  that  is,  if  you  don't 
want  to." 

"  I  do  want  to  go  with  you,"  he  responded.  "  I  would 
not  let  you  ride  by  yourself.  Even  should  nothing  harm 
you,  the  howling  of  a  wolf  would  frighten  you  almost  to 
death." 

She  had  no  intention  of  riding  home  alone.  She  knew 
she  would  die  from  fright  before  she  had  ridden  a  hundred 
yards  into  the  black  forest,  so  she  said  demurely :  — 

"  Of  course,  if  you  will  go  with  me  after  — 

"  I  would  go  with  you  after  anything,"  he  answered,  but 
she  thought  he  spoke  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

Had  Die  ever  hoped  to  gain  more  than  a  warm  friendship 
from  the  girl  that  hope  had  been  shattered  for  all  time,  and 
never,  never,  never  would  he  obtrude  his  love  upon  her 
again.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  not  obtruded  it  upon 
her  even  once,  but  he  had  thought  of  doing  it  so  many  times 
that  he  felt  as  if  he  had  long  been  an  importunate  suitor. 


UNDER   THE   ELM   CANOPY 


CHAPTER  V 

UNDER  THE  ELM  CANOPY 

DIC  and  Rita  rode  home  through  the  forest  in  silence. 
His  anger  soon  evaporated,  and  he  was  glad  she  had 
refused  to  pay  the  forfeit.  He  would  be  content  with 
the  friendship  that  had  been  his  since  childhood,  and  would 
never  again  risk  losing  it.  What  right  had  he,  a  great, 
uncouth  "clodhopper,"  to  expect  even  friendship  from  so 
beautiful  and  perfect  a  creature  as  the  girl  who  rode  beside 
him ;  and,  taking  it  all  in  all,  the  fault,  thought  he,  lay 
entirely  at  his  door.  In  this  sombre  mood  he  resolved  that 
he  would  remain  unmarried  all  his  life,  and  would  be  con 
tent  with  the  incompleted  sweet  of  loving.  He  would  put 
a  guard  upon  himself,  his  acts,  his  words,  his  passion.  The 
latter  was  truly  as  noble  and  pure  as  man  ever  felt  for 
woman,  but  it  should  not  be  allowed  to  estrange  his  friend. 
She  should  never  know  it ;  no,  never,  never,  never. 

Rita's  cogitations  were  also  along  the  wrong  track.  Dur 
ing  her  silent  ride  homeward  the  girl  was  thinking  with  an 
earnestness  and  a  rapidity  that  had  never  before  been  devel 
oped  in  her  brain.  She  was,  at  times,  almost  unconscious  that 
Die  was  riding  beside  her,  but  she  was  vividly  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  she  would  soon  be  home  and  that  he  also  would 
be  there.  She  determined  to  do  something  before  parting 
from  him  to  make  amends  for  her  conduct  at  the  social. 
But  what  should  she  do  ?  Hence  the  earnest  and  rapid 
intellection  within  the  drooping  head.  She  did  not  regret 
having  refused  to  kiss  Die.  She  would,  under  like  circum- 


go  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

stances,  again  act  in  the  same  manner.  She  regretted  the 
circumstances.  To  her,  a  kiss  should  be  a  holy,  sacred 
thing,  and  in  her  heart  she  longed  for  the  time  when  it 
would  be  her  duty  and  her  privilege  to  give  her  lips  to  the 
one  man.  But  kissing  games  seemed  to  her  little  less  than 
open  and  public  shame. 

She  could  not,  for  obvious  reasons,  tell  Die  she  was 
sorry  she  had  refused  him,  and  she  certainly  would  not 
mend  matters  by  telling  him  she  was  glad.  Still  less  could 
she  permit  him  to  leave  her  in  his  present  state  of  mind. 
All  together  it  was  a  terrible  dilemma.  If  she  could  for  only 
one  moment  have  a  man's  privilege  to  speak,  she  thought, 
it  would  all  be  very  simple.  But  she  could  not  speak.  She 
could  do  little  more  than  look,  and  although  she  could  do 
that  well,  she  knew  from  experience  that  the  language  of 
her  eyes  was  a  foreign  tongue  to  Die. 

When  they  reached  home,  Die  lifted  Rita  from  her 
saddle  and  stabled  her  horse.  When  he  came  from  the 
barn  she  was  holding  his  horse  and  waiting  for  him.  He 
took  the  rein  from  her  hands,  saying  :  — 

"  It  seems  almost  a  pity  to  waste  such  a  night  as  this  in 
the  house.  I  believe  one  might  read  by  the  light  of  the 
moon." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  girl,  hanging  her  head,  while  she 
meditatively  smoothed  the  grass  with  her  foot. 

"  It's  neither  warm  nor  cold  —  just  pleasant,"  continued 
Die. 

"  No,"  she  responded  very  softly. 

"  But  we  must  sleep,"  he  ventured  to  assert. 

She  would  not  contradict  the  statement.     She  was  silent. 

"  If  the  days  could  be  like  this  night,  work  would  be  a 
pleasure,"  observed  Die,  desperately. 

"No,"  came  the  reply,  hardly  louder  than  a  breath. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  the  weather,  but  Die  stuck  faith 
fully  to  the  blessed  topic. 


UNDER   THE   ELM    CANOPY  91 

"  It  may  rain  soon,"  he  remarked  confusedly.  There 
was  not  a  cloud  in  sight. 

"  Yes,"  breathed  the  pretty  figure,  smoothing  the  grass 
with  her  foot. 

"But  —  but,  I  rather  think  it  will  not,"  he  said. 

The  girl  was  silent.  She  didn't  care  if  it  snowed.  She 
longed  for  him  to  drop  the  subject  of  the  weather  and  to 
say  something  that  would  give  her  an  opportunity  to  speak. 
Her  manner,  however,  was  most  unassuring,  and  con 
vinced  Die  that  he  had  offended  beyond  forgiveness, 
while  his  distant,  respectful  formality  and  persistency  in 
the  matter  of  the  weather  almost  convinced  the  girl  that 
he  was  lost  to  her  forever.  Thus  they  stood  before  each 
other,  as  many  others  have  done,  a  pair  of  helpless  fools 
within  easy  reach  of  paradise.  Die's  straightforward  hab 
its  of  thought  and  action  came  to  his  aid,  however,  and  he 
determined  to  make  at  least  one  more  effort  to  regain  the 
girl's  friendly  regard.  He  abandoned  the  weather  and  said 
somewhat  abruptly :  — 

"  Rita,  if  I  offended  you  to-night,  I  am  sorry.  I  cannot 
tell  you  all  the  pain  I  feel.  When  you  dropped  the 
handkerchief  behind  me,  I  thought  —  I  know  I  was 
wrong  and  should  have  known  better  at  the  time  —  but  I 
thought  —  " 

"  Oh,  Die,"  she  softly  interrupted,  still  smoothing  the 
grass  with  her  foot,  "  I  am  not  offended ;  it  is  you." 

Had  the  serene  yellow  moon  burst  into  a  thousand  blaz 
ing  suns,  Die  could  not  have  been  more  surprised. 

"  Rita,  do  you  mean  it  ?  Do  you  really  mean  it  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"  And  were  you  afraid  I  was  offended  ? " 

"  Yes,"  again  very  softly. 

"  And  did  you  care  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  with  an  emphatic  nod  of  the  head. 


92  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  And  do  you  —  "  he  paused,  and  she  hesitatingly  whis 
pered  :  — 

"  Yes."  She  did  not  know  what  his  question  would  have 
been ;  but  whatever  he  wished  to  ask,  "  Yes  "  would  be  her 
answer,  so  she  gave  it,  and  Die  continued :  — 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  remain  for  a  few  minutes  ? " 

This  time  the  "  Yes  "  was  given  by  a  pronounced  droop 
ing  of  the  head,  but  she  took  his  hand  for  an  instant  that 
she  might  not  possibly  be  misunderstood. 

Die  hitched  his  horse  to  the  fence,  and,  turning  to  Rita, 
said :  — 

"  Shall  we  go  over  to  the  log  by  the  river  ? " 

"Yes."  Ah,  how  many  yeses  she  had  for  him  that 
night,  and  yes  is  a  sweet  word. 

When  they  were  seated  on  the  log  the  girl  waited  a  reason 
able  time  for  Die  to  begin  the  conversation.  He  remained 
silent,  and  soon  she  concluded  to  take  the  matter  temporarily 
in  her  own  hands.  He  had  begun  a  moment  before,  but 
had  stopped ;  perhaps  with  a  little  help  he  would  begin  again. 

"I  was  sure  you  were  angry,"  she  said,  "and  I  thought 
you  would  not  forgive  me  this  time.  I  have  so  often  given 
you  cause  to  dislike  me." 

"  Oh,  Rita,  I  don't  believe  you  know  that  you  could  not 
make  me  dislike  you.  When  I  thought  that — that  you 
did  not  care  for  me,  I  was  so  grieved  that  life  seemed 
almost  worthless,  but  I  love  you  so  dearly,  Rita  — "  but 
that  was  just  what  he  had  determined  never,  never  to  tell 
her.  He  stopped  midway  in  his  unintentional  confession, 
surprised  that  the  girl  did  not  indignantly  leave  him.  Her 
heart  beat  wofully.  Breathing  suddenly  became  harder 
work  than  churning.  She  sat  demurely  by  his  side  on  the 
log,  only  too  willing  to  listen,  with  a  dictionary  full  of 
"  Yeses  "  on  the  end  of  her  tongue,  and  he  sat  beside  her, 
unable  for  the  moment  to  think.  After  a  long  pause  she 
determined  to  give  him  a  fresh  start. 


UNDER   THE   ELM    CANOPY  93 

"  I  was  in  the  wrong,  Die,  and  if  you  wish  I'll  apologize 
to  you  before  all  who  saw  me.  But  I  was  frightened.  I 
should  not  have  gone  into  the  game.  It  may  be  right  for 
other  girls  —  I  would  not  say  that  it  is  not  right  —  but  for 
me,  I  know  it  would  be  a  sin  —  a  real  sin.  I  am  not  wise, 
but,  Die,  something  tells  me  that  certain  things  cannot 
occupy  a  middle  ground.  They  must  be  holy  and  sacred, 
or  they  are  sinful,  and  I  —  I  did  not  want  it  to  —  to  happen 
then,  because  —  because  —  "  there  she  stopped  speaking. 
She  had  unintentionally  used  the  word  "then,"  with  slight 
emphasis ;  but  slight  as  it  was,  it  sent  Die's  soul  soaring 
heavenward,  buoyant  with  ecstasy. 

"  Why,  Rita,  why  did  you  not  want  it  to  happen  —  "  he 
feared  to  say  "  then,"  and  it  would  seem  from  the  new 
position  of  his  arm,  he  also  feared  she  might  fall  back 
ward  off  the  log. 

"  Because  —  because,"  came  in  soft  whispers.  The 
beautiful  head  was  drooped,  and  the  face  was  hidden 
from  even  the  birds  and  the  moon,  while  Die's  disengaged 
hand,  out  of  an  abundance  of  caution  lest  she  might  fall, 
clasped  hers. 

"  Because  —  why,  Rita  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

Softly  came  the  response,  "  Because  I  wanted  to  be 
alone  with — with  —  you  when  it  —  it  happened."  It 
happened  before  she  had  finished  her  sentence,  but 
when  it  was  finished  the  head  lay  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
the  birds,  should  they  awaken,  or  the  moon,  or  any  one 
else,  might  see  for  aught  she  cared.  It  was  holy  and 
sacred  now,  and  she  felt  no  shame  :  she  was  proud.  The 
transfer  of  herself  had  been  made.  She  belonged  to  him, 
and  he,  of  course,  must  do  with  his  own  property  as  he  saw 
fit.  It  was  no  longer  any  affair  of  hers. 

The  victory  of  complete  surrender  is  sometimes  all-con 
quering  ;  at  any  rate,  Die  was  subjugated  for  life.  His 
situation  was  one  that  would  be  hard  to  improve  upon  in 


94  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

the  way  of  mere  earthly  bliss.  Heaven  may  furnish  some 
thing  better,  and  if  it  does,  the  wicked  certainly  have  no 
conception  of  what  they  are  going  to  miss.  Tom,  for 
example,  would  never  have  put  buttons  in  the  offering. 
Doug  would  not  gamble  and  drink.  Poor,  painted  Nanon 
would  starve  rather  than  sin.  Old  man  Jones,  in  the  amen 
corner,  would  not  swindle  his  neighbor ;  nor  would  Wet- 
more,  the  Baptist,  practise  the  holy  calling  of  shepherd, 
having  in  his  breast  the  heart  of  a  wolf.  We  all,  saving  a 
woman  here  and  there,  have  our  sins,  little  and  great,  and 
many  times  in  the  day  we  put  in  jeopardy  that  future  bliss. 
But  I  console  myself  with  the  hope  that  there  is  as  much 
forgiveness  in  heaven  as  there  is  sin  on  earth,  save  for  the 
hypocrite.  There  may  be  forgiveness  even  for  him,  but  I 
trust  not. 

I  have  done  this  bit  of  philosophizing  that  I  might  give 
Die  and  Rita  a  moment  to  themselves  on  the  sycamore 
divan.  You  may  have  known  the  time  in  your  life  when 
you  were  thankful  for  the  sight  of  a  dear  friend's  back. 

There  was  little  said  between  our  happy  couple  for 
many  minutes  after  the  explosion ;  but  like  a  certain  lady, 
who  long  ago  resided  for  a  time  in  a  beautiful  garden, 
the  girl  soon  began  to  tempt  the  man  :  not  to  eat  apples, 
for  Rita  was  one  of  the  "  women  here  and  there  "  spoken 
of  above.  She  was  pure  and  sinless  as  the  light  of  a  star. 
Her  tempting  was  of  another  sort.  Had  Rita  been  Eve, 
there  would  have  been  no  fall. 

After  several  efforts  to  speak,  she  said,  "  Now  you  will 
not  go  to  New  York,  will  you  ? " 

"Why,  Rita,"  he  responded  confidently,  "of  course  I'll  go. 
There  is  more  reason  now  for  my  going  than  ever  before." 

"  Why  more  now  than  ever  before  ? "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Because  I  want  money  that  I  may  support  you,"  he 
responded.  "  I'll  tell  you  a  great  secret,  Rita,  but  you 
must  promise  you  will  never  tell  it  to  any  one." 


UNDER   THE   ELM    CANOPY  95 

"I  promise — cross  my  heart,"  she  answered,  and  Die 
knew  that  wild  horses  could  not  tear  the  secret  from  her 
girlish  breast. 

"  I'm  studying  law,"  continued  Die.  "  Billy  Little  has 
been  buying  law  books  for  me.  They  are  too  expensive  for 
me  to  buy.  He  bought  me  '  Blackstone's  Commentaries ' 
—  four  large  volumes."  The  big  words  tasted  good  in 
his  mouth,  and  were  laden  with  sweetness  and  wisdom  for 
her  ears. 

"  I  have  read  them  twice,"  continued  Die.  "  He  is 
going  to  buy  '  Kent,'  and  after  that  I'll  take  up  works  on 
pleading  and  special  subjects.  He  has  consulted  Mr. 
Switzer,  and  if  I  can  save  enough  money  to  keep  you  and 
me  for  two  or  three  years  in  idleness,  I  am  to  go  into  Mr. 
Switzer's  office  to  learn  the  practice.  It  is  a  great  and 
beautiful  study." 

"  Oh,  it  must  be,  Die,"  cried  the  girl,  delightedly.  "  To 
think  that  you  will  be  a  lawyer.  I  have  always  known  that 
you  would  some  day  be  a  great  man.  Maybe  you  will 
be  a  judge,  or  a  governor,  or  go  to  Congress." 

"That  is  hardly  possible,"  responded  Die,  laughing. 

"  Indeed  it  is  possible,"  she  responded  very  seriously. 
"  Anything  is  possible  for  you  —  even  the  presidency, 
and  I'll  help  you.  I  will  not  be  a  millstone,  Die.  I'll 
help  you.  We'll  work  together — and  you'll  see  I'll  help 
you." 

Accordingly,  she  began  to  help  him  at  once  by  putting 
her  arm  coaxingly  over  his  shoulder,  and  saying  :  — 

"  But  if  you  are  going  to  do  all  this  you  should  not 
waste  your  time  leading  horses  to  New  York." 

"  But  you  see,  Rita,"  he  responded,  "  I  can  make  a  lot 
of  money  by  going,  and  I  shall  see  something  of  the  world, 
as  you  heard  Billy  Little  say." 

"  Oh,  you  would  rather  see  the  world  than  me  ?  "  queried 
the  girl,  drawing  away  from  him  with  an  injured  air,  where- 


96  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

upon  Die,  of  course,  vowed  that  he  would  rather  see  her 
face  than  a  thousand  worlds. 

"Then  why  don't  you  stay  where  you  can  see  it?  "  she 
asked  poutingly. 

"  Because,  as  I  told  you,  I  want  to  make  money  so  that 
when  I  go  into  Mr.  Switzer's  office  I  can  support  you  — 
and  the  others  —  "  He  stopped,  surprised  by  his  words. 

"The  others?  What  others?"  asked  the  girl.  That 
was  a  hard  question  to  answer,  and  he  undertook  it  very 
lamely. 

"  You  see,  Rita,"  he  stammered,  "  there  will  be  —  there 
might  —  there  may  be  —  don't  you  know,  Rita  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  know,  Die.  Why  are  you  so  mysterious  ? 
What  others  —  who  —  oh  !  "  And  she  hid  her  face  upon 
his  breast,  while  her  arms  stole  gently  about  his  neck. 

"You  see,"  remarked  Die,  speaking  softly  to  the  black 
waves  of  lustrous  hair,  "  I  must  take  lago's  advice  and  put 
money  in  my  purse.  I  have  always  hoped  to  be  something 
more  than  I  am.  Billy  Little,  who  has  been  almost  a  father 
to  me,  has  burned  the  ambition  into  me.  But  with  all  my 
yearning,  life  has  never  held  a  real  purpose  compared  with 
that  I  now  have  in  you.  The  desire  for  fame,  Rita,  the 
throbbing  of  ambition,  the  lust  for  gold  and  dominion,  are 
considered  by  the  world  to  be  the  great  motives  of  human 
action.  But,  Rita,  they  are  all  simply  means  to  one  end. 
There  is  but  one  great  purpose  in  life,  and  that  is  furnished 
to  a  man  by  the  woman  he  loves.  Billy  Little  gave  me  the 
thought.  It  is  not  mine.  How  he  knew  it,  being  an  old 
bachelor,  I  cannot  tell." 

"  Perhaps  Billy  Little  has  had  the  —  the  purpose  and 
lost  it,"  said  Rita,  being  quite  naturally  in  a  sentimental 
mood. 

"  I  wonder  ? "  mused  Die. 

"  Poor,  dear  old  Billy  Little,"  mused  Rita.  "  But  you 
will  not  go  to  New  York?"  continued  Miss  Persistency. 


UNDER   THE   ELM    CANOPY  97 

Die  had  resolved,  upon  hearing  Rita's  first  petition  con 
cerning  the  New  York  trip,  that  he  would  be  adamant.  His 
resolution  to  go  was  built  upon  the  rock  of  expediency. 
It  was  best  for  him,  best  for  Rita,  that  he  should  go,  and 
he  had  no  respect  for  a  poor,  weak  man  who  would  permit 
a  woman  to  coax  him  from  a  clearly  proper  course.  She 
should  never  coax  him  out  of  doing  that  which  was  best 
for  them  both. 

"  We'll  discuss  it  at  another  time,"  he  answered  eva 
sively,  as  he  tried  to  turn  her  face  up  toward  him.  But 
her  face  would  not  be  turned,  and  while  she  hid  it  on  his 
breast  she  pushed  his  away,  and  said  :  — 

"  No,  we'll  discuss  it  now.  You  must  promise  me  that 
you  will  not  go.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall  not  like  you,  and 
you  shall  not  —  "  She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  and 
Die  asked  gently  :  — 

"  I  shall  not  —  what,  Rita  ? 

"Anything,"  came  the  enlightening  response  from  the 
face  hidden  on  his  breast.  "  Besides,  you  will  break  my 
heart,  and  if  you  go,  I'll  know  you  don't  care  for  me.  I'll 
know  you  have  been  deceiving  me."  Then  the  face  came 
up,  and  the  great  brown  eyes  looked  pleadingly  into  his. 
"Die,  I've  leaned  on  you  so  long  —  ever  since  I  was  a 
child  —  that  I  have  no  strength  of  my  own ;  but  now  that 
I  have  given  myself  up  to  you,  I  —  I  cannot  stand  alone, 
even  for  a  day.  If  you  go  away  from  me  now,  it  will 
break  my  heart.  I  tell  you  it  will." 

Die  felt  her  tears  upon  his  hand,  and  soon  he  heard  soft 
sobs  and  felt  their  gentle  convulsions  within  her  breast. 
Of  course  the  result  was  inevitable ;  the  combatants  were 
so  unevenly  matched.  Woman's  tears  are  the  most  potent 
resolvent  know  to  chemistry,  They  will  dissolve  rocks  of 
resolution,  and  Die's  resolutions,  while  big  with  intent,  were 
small  in  flintiness,  though  he  had  thought  well  of  them  at 
the  time  they  were  formed.  He  could  not  endure  the  pain 


98  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

inflicted  by  Rita's  tears.  He  had  not  learned  how  easy 
and  useful  tears  are  to  women.  They  burned  him. 

"  Please,  Rita,  please  don't  cry,"  he  pleaded. 

The  tears,  while  they  came  readily  and  without  pain, 
were  honest ;  at  any  rate,  the  girl  being  so  young,  they 
were  not  deliberately  intended  to  be  useful.  They  were  a 
part  of  her  instinct  of  self-preservation. 

"  Don't  cry,  please,  Rita.     Your  tears  hurt  me." 

"  Then  promise  me  you  won't  go  to  New  York."  I  fear 
there  is  no  getting  away  entirely  from  the  theory  of  utility. 
With  evident  intent  to  crowd  the  battle  upon  a  wavering 
foe,  the  tears  came  fast  and  furious. 

"  Promise  me,"  sobbed  Rita ;  and  I  know  you  will  love 
Die  better  when  I  tell  you  that  he  promised.  Then  the 
girl's  face  came  up,  and,  I  grieve  to  say,  the  tears,  having 
served  their  purpose,  ceased  at  once. 

Next  morning  Die  went  to  see  Billy  Little  and  told  him 
he  had  come  to  have  a  talk.  Billy  locked  the  store  door 
and  the  friends  repaired  to  the  river.  There  they  found  a 
shady  resting-place,  and  Billy,  lighting  his  pipe,  said :  — 

"  Blaze  away." 

"  I  know  you  will  despise  me,"  the  young  man  began. 

"  No,  I  won't,"  interrupted  Billy.  "  You  are  human.  I 
don't  look  for  unmixed  good.  If  I  did,  I  should  not  find  it 
except  once  in  a  while  in  a  woman.  What  have  you  been 
doing?  Go  on."  Billy  leaned  forward  on  his  elbows, 
placed  the  points  of  his  fingers  together,  and,  while  wait 
ing  for  Die  to  begin,  hummed  his  favorite  stanza  concern 
ing  the  braes  of  Maxwelton. 

"Well,"  responded  Die,  "I've  concluded  not  to  go  to 
New  York." 

Billy's  face  turned  a  shade  paler  as  he  took  his  pipe 
from  his  lips  and  looked  sadly  at  Die.  After  a  moment  of 
scrutiny  he  said  :  — 

"  I  had  hoped  to  get  you  off  before  it  happened.     It's 


UNDER   THE   ELM   CANOPY  99 

all  off  now.  You  might  as  well  throw  Blackstone  into 
Blue." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  queried  Die.  "  Before  what 
happened  ? " 

"  Before  Rita  happened,"  responded  Billy. 

"  Rita  ? "  cried  Die  in  astonishment.  "  How  did  you 
know  ? " 

"How  do  I  know  that  spring  follows  winter?"  asked 
Billy.  "  I  had  hoped  that  winter  would  hold  a  little  longer, 
and  that  I  might  get  you  off  to  New  York  before  spring's 
arrival." 

"  Billy  Little,  you  are  talking  in  riddles,"  said  Die,  pre 
tending  not  to  understand.  "  Drop  your  metaphor  and  tell 
me  what  you  mean." 

"You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean,  but  I'll  tell  you. 
I  hoped  that  you  would  go  to  New  York  before  Rita  came 
to  you.  There  would  have  been  oceans  of  time  after  your 
return.  She  is  very  young,  not  much  over  sixteen." 

"  But  you  see,  Billy  Little,  it  was  this  way." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  how  it  was.  She  cried  and  said 
you  didn't  care  for  her,  that  you  were  breaking  her  heart, 
and  wouldn't  let  you  kiss  her  till  you  gave  her  your 
promise.  Oh,  bless  your  soul,  I  know  exactly  how  it  came 
about.  Maxwelton's  braes  are  um,  um,  um,  um,  yes,  yes." 

"Have  you  seen  Rita?"  asked  Die,  who  could  not  be 
lieve  that  she  would  tell  even  Billy  of  the  scene  on  the 
log. 

"  Of  course  I  have  not  seen  her.  How  could  I  ?  It  all 
happened  last  night  after  the  social,  and  it  is  now  only 
seven  A.M." 

"  Billy  Little,  I  believe  you  are  a  mind  reader,"  said 
Die,  musingly. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  replied  Billy,  with  asperity.  "  Let's  go 
back  to  the  store.  You've  told  me  all  I  want  to  know  ; 
but  I  don't  blame  you  much  after  all.  You  couldn't  help 


ioo  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

it.  No  man  could.  But  you'll  die  plowing  corn.  Per 
haps  you'll  be  happier  in  a  corn  field  than  in  a  broader 
one.  Doubtless  the  best  thing  one  can  do  is  to  drift. 
With  all  due  reverence,  I  am  almost  ready  to  believe  that 
Providence  made  a  mistake  when  it  permitted  our  race  to 
progress  beyond  the  pastoral  age.  Stick  to  your  ploughing, 
Die.  It's  good,  wholesome  exercise,  and  Rita  will  furnish 
everything  else  needful  to  your  happiness." 

They  walked  silently  back  to  the  store.  Die,  uninvited, 
entered  and  sat  down  on  a  box.  Billy  distributed  the 
morning  mail  and  hummed  Maxwelton  Braes.  Then  he 
arranged  goods  on  the  counter.  Die  followed  the  little 
old  fellow  with  his  eyes,  but  neither  spoke.  The  younger 
man  was  waiting  for  his  friend  to  speak,  and  the  friend 
was  silent  because  he  did  not  feel  like  talking.  He  loved 
Die  and  Rita  with  passionate  tenderness.  He  had  almost 
brought  them  up  from  infancy,  and  all  that  was  best  in 
them  bore  the  stamp  of  his  personality.  Between  him 
and  Die  there  was  a  feeling  near  akin  to  that  of  father 
and  son,  but  unfortunately  Rita  was  not  a  boy.  Still  more 
unfortunately  the  last  year  had  added  to  her  already  great 
beauty  a  magnetism  that  was  almost  mesmeric  in  its  effect. 
There  had  also  been  a  ripening  in  the  sweet  tenderness 
of  her  gentle  manner,  and  if  you  will  remember  the  bache 
lor  heart  of  which  I  have  spoken,  you  will  understand 
that  poor  Billy  Little  couldn't  help  k  at  all,  at  all.  God 
knows  he  would  have  helped  it.  The  fault  lay  in  the  girl's 
winsomeness  ;  and  if  Billy's  desire  to  send  Die  off  to  New 
York  was  not  an  unmixed  motive,  you  must  not  blame  Billy 
too  severely.  Neither  must  you  laugh  at  him  ;  for  he  had 
the  heart  of  a  boy,  and  the  most  boyish  act  in  the  world 
is  to  fall  in  love.  Billy  had  never  misunderstood  Rita's 
tenderness  and  love  for  him.  There  was  no  designing 
coquetry  in  the  girl.  She  had  always  since  babyhood 
loved  him,  perhaps  better  even  than  she  loved  her  parents, 


UNDER   THE   ELM    CANOPY  101 

and  she  delighted  to  show  him  her  affection.  Billy  had 
never  been  deceived  by  her  preference,  and  of  course  was 
careful  that  she  should  not  observe  the  real  quality  of  his 
own  regard  for  her.  But  the  girl's  love,  such  as  she  gave, 
was  sweet  to  him  —  oh,  so  sweet,  this  love  of  this  perfect 
girl  —  and  he,  even  he,  old  and  gray  though  he  was,  could 
not  help  longing  for  that  which  he  knew  was  as  far  beyond 
his  reach  as  the  bending  rainbow  is  beyond  the  hand  of  a 
longing  child.  He  was  more  than  fifty  in  years,  but  his 
heart  was  young,  and  we,  of  course,  all  agree  that  he  was 
very  foolish  indeed  —  which  truth  he  knew  quite  as  well 
as  we. 

So  this  disclosure  of  Die's  was  a  shock  to  Billy,  although 
it  was  the  thing  of  all  others  he  most  desired  should  come 
to  pass. 

"  Are  you  angry,  Billy  Little  ?  "  asked  Die,  feeling  some 
what  inclined  to  laugh,  though  standing  slightly  in  fear  of 
his  little  friend. 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  Billy.  "  Why  should  I  be 
angry  ?  It's  no  affair  of  mine." 

"  No  affair  of  yours,  Billy  Little  ? "  asked  Die,  with  a 
touch  of  distress  in  his  voice,  though  he  knew  that  it  was 
an  affair  very  dear  to  Billy's  heart.  "  Do  you  really  mean 
it?" 

"  No,  of  course  I  don't  mean  it,"  returned  Billy ;  "  but 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  bother  me.  Don't  you  see  I'm  at 
work  ? " 

Billy's  conduct  puzzled  Die,  as  well  it  might,  and  the 
young  man  turned  his  face  toward  the  door,  determined 
to  wait  till  an  explanation  should  come  unsought. 

Billy's  bachelor  apartment  —  or  apartments,  as  he  called 
his  single  room  —  was  back  of  the  store.  There  were  his 
bed,  —  a  huge,  mahogany  four-poster,  —  his  library,  his 
bath-tub,  a  half-dozen  good  pictures  in  oil  and  copper 
plate,  a  pair  of  old  fencing  foils,  —  relics  of  his  university 


102  A    FOREST   HEARTH 

days,  —  a  piano,  and  a  score  of  pipes.  Under  the  bed  was 
a  flat  leather  trunk,  and  on  the  floor  a  rich,  though  worn, 
velvet  carpet.  Three  or  four  miniatures  on  ivory  rested 
on  the  rude  mantel-shelf,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
stood  a  mahogany  table  covered  with  BlackwoocTs  Maga 
zines,  pamphlets,  letters,  and  books.  In  the  midst  of  this 
confusion  on  the  table  stood  a  pair  of  magnificent  gold 
candlesticks,  each  holding  a  half-burned  candle,  and  over 
all  was  a  mantle  of  dust  that  would  have  driven  a  woman 
mad.  Certainly  the  contents  of  Billy's  "  apartments  "  was 
an  incongruous  collection  to  find  in  a  log-cabin  of  the 
wilderness. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  Billy  called  to  Die,  saying:  — 
"  I  wish  you  would  watch  the  store  for  me.  I'm  going 
to  my  apartments  for  a  bit.  If  Mrs.  Hawkins  comes  in, 
give  her  this  bottle  of  calomel  and  this  bundle  of  goods. 
The  calomel  is  a  fippenny  bit ;  the  goods  is  four  shillin', 
but  I  don't  suppose  she'll  want  to  pay  for  them.  Don't 
take  coonskins.  I  won't  have  coonskins.  If  I  can't  sell 
my  goods  for  cash,  I'll  keep  'em.  Butter  and  eggs  will 
answer  once  in  a  while,  if  the  customer  is  poor  and  has 
no  money,  but  I  draw  the  line  on  coonskins.  The  Haw 
kinses  always  have  coonskins.  I  believe  they  breed  coons, 
but  they  can't  trade  their  odoriferous  pelts  to  me.  If  she 
has  them,  tell  her  to  take  them  to  Hackett's.  He'll  trade 
for  fishing  worms,  if  she  has  any,  and  then  perhaps  get 
more  than  his  shoddy  goods  are  worth.  Well,  here's  the 
calomel  and  the  goods.  Get  the  cash  or  charge  them. 
There's  a  letter  in  the  C  box  for  Seal  Coble.  Give  it  to 
Mrs.  Hawkins,  and  tell  her  to  hand  it  to  Seal  as  she  drives 
past  his  house.  Tell  her  to  read  it  to  the  old  man.  He 
doesn't  know  a  from  x.  I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Hawkins  does. 
But  you  can  tell  her  to  read  it — it  will  flatter  her.  I'll 
return  when  I'm  ready.  Meantime,  I  don't  want  to  be 
disturbed  by  any  one.  Understand  ? " 


UNDER   THE   ELM    CANOPY  103 

"  Yes,"  answered  Die,  and  the  worthy  merchant  disap 
peared,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

Billy  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair,  leaned  his  head  back 
ward,  and  looked  at  the  ceiling  for  a  few  minutes ;  then, 
resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  There  he  sat  without  moving  for  an  hour.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  he  arose,  drew  the  trunk  from  under 
the  bed,  unlocked  it,  and  raised  the  lid.  A  woman's  scarf, 
several  bundles  of  letters,  two  teakwood  boxes,  ten  or 
twelve  inches  square  and  three  or  four  inches  deep,  beau 
tifully  mounted  in  gold,  and  a  dozen  books  neatly  wrapped 
in  tissue  paper,  made  up  the  contents.  These  articles 
seemed  to  tell  of  a  woman  back  somewhere  in  Billy's  life ; 
and  if  they  spoke  the  truth,  there  must  have  been  grief 
along  with  her  for  Billy.  For  although  he  was  created 
capable  of  great  joy,  by  the  same  token  he  could  also  suf 
fer  the  deepest  grief. 

Out  of  the  trunk  came  one  of  the  gold-mounted  boxes, 
and  out  of  the  box  came  a  package  of  letters  neatly  tied 
with  a  faded  ribbon.  Billy  lifted  the  package  to  his  face 
and  inhaled  the  faint  odor  of  lavender  given  forth ;  then 
he  —  yes,  even  he,  Billy  Little,  quaint  old  cynic,  pressed 
the  dainty  bundle  to  his  lips  and  breathed  a  sigh  of  min 
gled  sorrow  and  relief. 

"Ah,  I  knew  they  would  help  me,"  he  said.  "They 
always  do.  Whatever  my  troubles,  they  always  help  me." 

He  opened  the  package,  and,  after  carefully  reading  the 
letters,  bound  them  again  with  the  ribbon,  and  took  from 
the  box  a  small  ivory  jewel  case,  an  inch  cube  in  size. 
From  the  ivory  box  he  took  a  heavy  plain  gold  ring  and 
went  over  to  the  chair,  where  he  sat  in  bachelor  medita 
tion,  though  far  from  fancy  free. 

Suddenly  he  sprang  from  the  chair,  exclaiming :  "  I'll 
do  it.  I'll  do  it.  She  would  wish  me  to- — I  will,  I  will." 

He  then  went  back  to  the  storeroom,  loitered  behind  the 


104  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

letter-boxes  a  few  minutes,  called  Die  back  to  him,  and 
said :  — 

"  You  are  going  to  have  one  of  the  sweetest,  best  girls 
in  all  the  world  for  your  wife,"  said  he.  "  You  are  lucky, 
Die,  but  she  is  luckier.  When  you  first  told  me  of  —  of 
what  happened  last  night,  I  was  disappointed  because  I 
saw  your  career  simply  knocked  end  over  end.  No  man, 
having  as  sweet  a  wife  as  Rita,  ever  amounted  to  any 
thing,  unless  she  happened  to  be  ambitious,  and  Rita  has 
no  more  ambition  than  a  spring  violet.  Such  a  woman, 
unless  she  is  ambitious,  takes  all  the  ambition  out  of  a 
man.  She  becomes  sufficient  for  him.  She  absorbs  his 
aspirations,  and  gives  him  in  exchange  nothing  but  con 
tentment  Of  course,  if  she  is  ambitious  and  sighs  for  a 
crown  for  him,  she  is  apt  to  lead  him  to  it.  But  Rita 
knows  how  to  do  but  one  thing  well  —  first  conjugation, 
present  infinitive,  amare.  She  knows  all  about  that,  and 
she  will  bring  you  mere  happiness  —  nothing  else.  By 
Jove,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  You'll  only  be  happy." 

"  But,  Billy  Little,"  cried  Die,  "  you  have  it  wrong. 
Don't  you  see  that  she  will  be  an  inspiration  ?  She  will 
fire  me.  I  will  work  and  achieve  greater  things  for  her 
sake  than  I  could  possibly  accomplish  without  her." 

"  That's  why  you're  going  to  New  York,  is  it  ? "  asked 
Die's  cynical  friend. 

"  Well,  you  know,  that  was  her  first  request,  and  —  and, 
you  must  understand  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  I  know  she  will  coax  you  out  of 
leaving  her  side  long  enough  to  plow  a  corn  row  if  you  are 
not  careful.  There'll  be  happy  times  for  the  weeds.  Women 
of  Rita's  sort  are  like  fire  and  water,  Die ;  they  are  useful 
and  delightful,  but  dangerous.  No  man,  however  wise, 
knows  their  power.  Egad !  One  of  them  would  coax  the 
face  off  of  ye  if  she  wanted  it,  before  you  knew  you  had  a 
face.  It's  their  God-given  privilege  to  coax ;  but  bless  your 


UNDER   THE    ELM    CANOPY  105 

soul,  Die,  what  a  poor  world  this  would  be  without  their 
coaxing.  God  pity  the  man  who  lacks  it !  Eh,  Die  ? " 
Billy  was  thinking  of  his  own  loneliness. 

"  Rita  certainly  knows  how  to  coax,"  replied  Die.  "  And 
—  and  it  is  very  pleasant." 

"  Have  you  an  engagement  ring  for  her  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

"  No,"  responded  Die,  "  I  can't  afford  one  now,  and 
Rita  doesn't  expect  it.  After  I'm  established  in  the  law, 
I'll  buy  her  a  beautiful  ring." 

"  After  you're  established  in  the  law  !  If  the  poor  girl 
waits  for  that  —  but  she  shan't  wait.  I  have  one  here," 
said  Billy,  drawing  forth  the  ivory  box.  "  I  value  it  above 
all  my  possessions."  His  voice  broke  piteously.  "  It  is 
more  precious  to  me  ....  than  words  can  ....  tell  or 
....  money  can  buy.  It  brought  me  ....  my  first  great 
joy  ....  my  first  great  grief.  I  give  it  to  you,  Die,  that 
you  may  give  it  to  Rita.  Egad !  I  believe  I've  taken  a 
cold  from  the  way  my  eyes  water.  There,  there,  don't  thank 
me,  or  I'll  take  it  back.  Now,  I  want  to  be  alone.  Damme, 
I  say,  don't  thank  me.  Get  out  of  here,  you  young  scoun 
drel  ;  to  come  in  here  and  take  my  ring  away  from  me ! 
Jove!  I'll  have  the  law  on  you,  the  law !  Good-by." 

"  I  fear  I  should  not  have  given  them  the  ring,"  mused 

Billy  when  Die  had  gone "It  might  prove  unlucky. 

....  It  came  back  to  me  because  she  was  forced  to  marry 
another I  wonder  if  it  will  come  back  to  Die?  Non 
sense  !  It  is  impossible Nothing  can  come  between 

them But  it  was  a  fatal  ring  for  me I  am 

almost  sorry  ....  but  it  can  bring  no  trouble  to  Die  and 
Rita  ....  impossible.  But  I  am  almost  sorry  ....  go 
off,  Billy  Little ;  you  are  growing  soft  and  superstitious 
....  but  it  would  break  her  heart.  I  wonder  ....  ah  ! 
nonsense.  Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonny,  um,  um,  urn, 
um,  um,  um."  And  Billy  first  tried  to  sing  his  grief  away, 
then  sought  relief  from  his  beloved  piano. 


THE    FIGHT    BY   THE   RIVER   SIDE 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FIGHT  BY  THE  RIVER  SIDE 

DEEP  in  the  forest  on  the  home  path,  Die  looked  at 
the  ring,  and  quite  forgot  Billy  Little,  while  he 
anticipated  the  pleasure  he  would  take  in  giving 
the  golden  token  to  Rita.  He  did  not  intend  to  be  selfish, 
but  selfishness  was  a  part  of  his  condition.  A  great  love 
is,  and  should  be,  narrowing. 

That  evening  Die  walked  down  the  river  path  to  Bays's 
and,  as  usual,  sat  on  the  porch  with  the  family.  Twenty- 
four  hours  earlier  sitting  on  the  porch  with  the  family 
would  have  seemed  a  delightful  privilege,  and  the  moments 
would  have  been  pleasure-winged.  But  now  Mrs.  Bays's 
profound  and  frequently  religious  philosophizing  was  dull 
compared  to  what  might  be  said  on  the  log  down  by  the 
river  bank. 

Tom,  of  course,  talked  a  good  deal.  Among  other 
things  he  remarked  to  Die :  — 

"  I  'lowed  you'd  never  come  back  here  again  after  the 
way  Rita  treated  you  last  night."  Of  course  he  did  not 
know  how  exceedingly  well  Rita  had  treated  Die  last 
night. 

"  Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  returned  Die.  "  Rita  was  right. 
I  hope  she  will  always  —  always  —  "  The  sentence  was 
hard  to  finish. 

"  You  hope  she'll  always  treat  you  that-a-way  ?  "  asked 
Tom,  derisively.  "  I  bet  if  you  had  her  alone  she  wouldn't 
be  so  hard  to  manage  —  would  you,  Rita?"  Tom  thought 

109 


no  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

himself  a  rare  wit,  and  a  mistake  of  that  sort  makes  one 
very  disagreeable.  Rita's  face  burned  scarlet  at  Tom's 
witticism,  and  Mrs.  Bays  promptly  demanded  of  her  daugh 
ter:— 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  Poor  Rita 
had  not  been  talking  at  all,  and  therefore  made  no  answer. 
The  demand  was  then  made  of  Tom,  but  in  a  much  softer 
tone  of  voice  :  — 

"  Tell  me,  Tom,"  his  mother  asked. 

"  I'll  not  tell  you.  Rita  and  Die  may,  but  I'll  not.  I'm 
no  tell-tale."  No,  not  he  ! 

The  Chief  Justice  turned  upon  Rita,  looked  sternly  over 
her  glasses,  and  again  insisted  :  — 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  girl  ?  Tell  me  at  once.  I 
command  you  by  the  duty  you  owe  your  mother." 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  mother,  Please  don't  ask,"  replied 
Rita,  hanging  her  head. 

"You  can  tell  me,  and  you  shall,"  cried  the  fond  mother. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  mother,  and  I  won't.  Please  don't 
ask." 

"  Do  my  ears  deceive  me  ?  You  refuse  to  obey  your 
parents  ?  '  Obey  thy  father  and  thy  mother  that  thy  days 
may  be  long '  —  " 

Tom  interrupted  her  :  "  Oh,  mother,  for  goodness'  sake, 
quit  firing  that  quotation  at  Rita.  I'm  sick  of  it.  If  it's 
true,  I  ought  to  have  died  long  ago.  I  don't  mind  you. 
Never  did.  Never  will." 

"Yes,  you  do,  Tom,"  answered  his  mother,  meekly. 
"And  this  disobedient  girl  shall  mind  me,  too."  Rita  had 
never  in  all  her  life  disobeyed  a  command  from  either 
father  or  mother.  She  was  obedient  from  habit  and  incli 
nation,  and  in  her  guileless,  affectionate  heart  believed 
that  a  terrific  natural  cataclysm  of  some  sort  would  surely 
occur  should  she  even  think  of  disobeying. 

With   ostentatious  deliberation    Mrs.    Bays   folded   her 


THE   FIGHT   BY   THE    RIVER   SIDE     in 

knitting  and  placed  it  on  the  floor  beside  her;  took  off 
her  spectacles,  put  them  in  the  case,  and  put  the  case  in  her 
pocket.  Rita  knew  her  mother  was  clearing  the  decks  for 
action  and  that  Justice  was  coldly  arranging  to  have  its 
own.  So  great  was  the  girl's  love  and  fear  for  this  hard 
woman  that  she  trembled  as  if  in  peril. 

"  Now,  Margarita  Fisher  Bays,"  the  Chief  Justice  began, 
glaring  at  the  trembling  girl.  When  on  the  bench  she 
addressed  her  daughter  by  her  full  name  in  long-drawn 
syllables,  and  Rita's  full  name  upon  her  mother's  lips  meant 
trouble.  But  at  the  moment  Mrs.  Bays  began  her  address 
from  the  bench  Billy  Little  came  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  porch. 

Tom  said,  "  Hello,  Billy  Little,"  Mr.  Bays  said,  "  Howdy," 
and  Mrs.  Bays  said  majestically :  "  Good  evening,  Mr. 
Little.  You  have  come  just  in  time  to  see  the  ungrate- 
fullest  creature  the  world  can  produce  —  a  disobedient 
daughter." 

"  I  can't  believe  that  you  have  one,"  smiled  Billy. 

Rita's  eyes  flashed  a  look  of  gratitude  upon  her  friend. 
Die  might  not  be  able  to  understand  the  language  of  those 
eyes,  but  Billy  knew  their  vocabulary  from  the  smallest  to 
the  greatest  word. 

"  I  wouldn't  believe  it  either,"  said  Mrs.  Bays,  "  if  I  had 
not  just  heard  her  say  it  with  my  own  ears." 

"  Did  she  say  it  with  your  own  ears  ? "  interrupted 
Tom. 

"  Now,  Tom,  please  don't  interrupt,  my  son,"  said  Mrs. 
Bays.  "  She  said  to  her  own  mother,  Mr.  Little,  '  I  won't ; ' 
said  it  to  her  own  mother  who  has  toiled  and  suffered  and 
endured  for  her  sake  all  her  life  long ;  to  her  own  mother 
who  has  nursed  her  and  watched  over  her  and  tried  to  do 
her  duty  according  to  the  poor  light  that  God  has  vouch 
safed —  and  —  and  I've  been  troubled  with  my  heart  all 
day." 


II2  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Rita,  poor  girl,  had  been  troubled  with  her  heart  many 
days. 

"  Yes,  with  my  heart,"  continued  the  dutiful  mother. 
"  Dr.  Kennedy  says  I  may  drop  any  moment."  (Billy 
secretly  wished  that  Kennedy  had  fixed  the  moment.) 
"  And  when  I  asked  her  to  tell  me  what  she  did  last  night 
at  the  social,  she  answered,  '  I  can't  and  won't.'  I  should 
have  known  better  than  to  let  her  go.  She  hasn't  sense 
enough  to  be  let  out  of  my  sight.  She  lied  to  me  about 
the  social,  too.  She  pretended  that  she  did  not  want 
to  go,  and  she  did  want  to  go."  That  was  the  real  cause 
of  Mrs.  Margarita's  anger.  She  suspected  she  had  been 
duped  into  consenting,  and  the  thought  had  rankled  in  her 
heart  all  day. 

"  You  did  want  to  go,  didn't  you? "  snapped  out  the  old 
woman. 

"Yes,  mother,  I  did  want  to  go,"  replied  Rita. 

"  There,  you  hear  for  yourself,  Mr.  Little.  She  lied  to 
me,  and  now  is  brazen  enough  to  own  up  to  it." 

Tom  thought  the  scene  very  funny  and  laughed  boister 
ously.  Had  Tom  been  scolded,  Rita  would  have  wept. 

"  Go  it,  mother,"  said  Tom.  "  This  is  better  than  a  jury 
trial." 

"  Oh,  Tom,  be  still,  son  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bays,  and  then 
turning  to  Rita :  "  Now  you've  got  to  tell  me  what  hap 
pened  at  Scott's  social.  Out  with  it !  " 

Rita  and  Die  were  sitting  near  each  other  on  the  edge  of 
the  porch.  Mr.  Bays  and  Tom  occupied  rocking-chairs, 
and  Billy  Little  was  standing  on  the  ground,  hat  in  hand. 

"  Tell  me  this  instant,"  cried  Mrs.  Bays,  rising  from  her 
chair  and  going  over  to  the  girl,  who  shrank  from  her  in 
fear.  "  Tell  me,  or  I'll  —  I'll  — " 

"  I  can't,  mother,"  the  girl  answered  tremblingly.  "  I 
can't  tell  you  before  all  these  —  these  folks.  I'll  tell  you 
in  the  house." 


THE   FIGHT    BY   THE   RIVER   SIDE    113 

"You  went  into  the  kissing  game.  That's  what  you 
did,"  cried  Mrs.  Bays,  "  and  your  punishment  shall  be  to 
confess  it  before  Mr.  Little."  Rita  began  to  weep,  and 
answered  gently  :  — 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  did,  but  I  did  not — did  not  —  "  A 
just  and  injured  wrath  gathered  on  the  face  of  Justice. 

"  Didn't  I  command  you  not  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Mrs.  Bays,"  interrupted  Die. 
11  I  coaxed  her  to  go  in."  (Rita's  heart  thanked  him  for 
the  lie.)  "The  others  all  insisted.  One  of  the  boys 
dragged  her  to  the  centre  of  the  room  and  she  just  had 
to  go  into  the  game.  She  only  remained  a  short  time, 
and  what  Tom  referred  to  is  this  :  she  would  not  allow 
any  one  to  —  to  kiss  her,  and  she  quit  the  game  when  she 
—  she  refused  me." 

"  She  quit  the  game  when  it  quit,  I  'low.  Isn't  that 
right  ?  "  asked  the  inquisitor. 

"  The  game  stopped  when  she  went  out  —  " 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  replied  Mrs.  Bays,  straighten 
ing  up  for  the  purpose  of  delivering  judgment.  "  Now 
go  to  bed  at  once,  you  disobedient,  indecent  girl!  I'm 
ashamed  of  you,  and  blush  that  Mr.  Little  should  know 
your  wickedness." 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  stay,"  sobbed  Rita,  but  Mrs.  Bays 
pointed  to  the  door  and  Rita  rose,  gave  one  glance  to  Die, 
and  went  weeping  to  her  room.  Mr.  Bays  said  mildly  :  — 

"  Margarita,  you  should  not  have  been  so  hard  on  the 
girl." 

"  Now,  Tom  Bays,"  responded  the  strenuous  spouse, 
"  I'll  thank  you  not  to  meddle  with  my  children.  I  know 
my  duty,  and  I'll  do  it.  Lord  knows  I  wish  I  could  shirk 
it  as  some  people  do,  but  I  can't.  I  must  do  my  duty 
when  the  Lord  is  good  enough  to  point  it  out,  or  my  con 
science  will  smite  me.  There's  many  a  person  with  my  heart 
would  sit  by  and  let  her  child  just  grow  up  in  the  wilder- 


n4  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

ness  like  underbrush ;  but  I  must  do  my  duty,  Mr.  Little, 
in  the  humble  sphere  in  which  Providence  has  placed  me. 
Give  every  man  his  just  dues,  and  do  my  duty.  That's  all 
I  know,  Mr.  Little.  '  Justice  to  all  and  punishment  for 
sinners ; '  that's  my  motto  and  my  husband  will  tell  you  I 
live  up  to  it."  She  looked  for  confirmation  to  her  spouse, 
who  said  regretfully  :  — 

"  Yes,  I  must  say  that's  true." 

"  There,"  cried  triumphant  Justice.  "  You  see,  I  don't 
boast.  I  despise  boasting."  She  took  up  her  knitting, 
put  on  her  glasses,  closed  her  lips,  and  thus  announced 
that  court  was  also  closed. 

Poor  Rita,  meantime,  was  sobbing,  upstairs  at  her  win 
dow. 

After  a  long,  awkward  silence,  Billy  Little  addressed 
Die.  "  I  came  up  to  spend  the  night  with  you,  and  if  you 
are  going  home,  I'll  walk  and  lead  my  horse.  I  suppose 
you  walked  down  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Die  ;  "  I'll  go  with  you." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  carry  off  your  company,  Mrs.  Bays,"  said 
Billy,  "  but  I  want  to  — " 

"  Oh,  Die's  no  company ;  he's  always  here.  I  don't 
know  where  he  finds  time  to  work.  I'd  think  he'd  go  to 
see  the  girls  sometimes." 

"  Rita's  a  girl,  isn't  she  ? "  asked  Billy,  glancing  toward 
Die. 

"  Rita's  only  a  child,  and  a  disobedient  one  at  that," 
replied  Mrs.  Bays,  but  Billy's  words  put  a  new  thought 
into  her  head  that  was  almost  sure  to  cause  trouble  for 
Rita. 

When  Billy  and  Die  went  around  the  house  to  fetch 
Billy's  horse,  Rita  was  sitting  at  the  window  upstairs.  She 
smiled  through  her  tears  and  tossed  a  note  to  Die,  which 
he  deciphered  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  It  was  brief, 
"  Please  meet  me  to-morrow  at  the  step-off  —  three  o'clock." 


THE    FIGHT    BY   THE   RIVER   SIDE    115 

The  step-off  was  a  deep  hole  in  the  river  halfway  be 
tween  Bays's  and  Bright's. 

Die  and  Billy  walked  up  the  river  path  a  little  time  in 
silence.  Billy  was  first  to  speak. 

"  I  consider,"  said  he,  "  that  profane  swearing  is  vulgar, 
but  I  must  say  damn  that  woman.  What  an  inquisitor 
she  would  make.  I  hope  Kennedy  is  right  about  her  heart. 
Think  of  her  as  your  mother-in-law !  " 

"When  Rita  is  my  wife,"  replied  Die,  "  I'll  protect  her, 
if  I  have  to  —  to  —  " 

"  What  will  you  do,  Die  ?  "  asked  Billy.  "  Such  a  woman 
is  utterly  unmanageable.  •  You  see,  the  trouble  is,  that  she 
believes  in  herself  and  is  honest  by  a  species  of  artificial 
sincerity.  Show  me  a  stern,  hard  woman  who  is  bent  on 
doing  her  duty,  her  whole  duty,  and  nothing  but  her  duty, 
and  I'll  show  you  a  misery  breeder.  Did  you  give  Rita 
the  ring  ? " 

"  I  haven't  had  the  chance,"  answered  Die.  "  I'll  do  it 
to-morrow.  Billy  Little,  I  want  to  thank  you  —  you  must 
let  me  tell  you  what  I  think,  or  I'll  burst." 

"  Burst,  then,"  returned  Billy.  "I'd  rather  be  kicked 
than  thanked.  I  knew  how  Rita  and  you  would  feel,  or  I 
should  not  have  given  you  the  ring.  Do  you  suppose  I 
would  have  parted  with  it  because  of  a  small  motive  ? 
Have  you  told  the  Chief  Justice  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  will  learn  when  she  sees  the  ring  on  Rita's 
finger." 

Silence  then  ensued,  which  was  broken  after  a  few 
minutes  by  Billy  Little  humming  under  his  breath,  "  Max- 
welton's  braes  are  bonny."  Die  soon  joined  in  the  sweet 
refrain,  and,  each  encouraging  the  other,  they  swelled  their 
voices  and  allowed  the  tender  melody  to  pour  forth.  I  can 
almost  see  them  as  they  walked  up  the  river  path,  now  in 
the  black  shadow  of  the  forest,  and  again  near  the  gur 
gling  water's  edge,  in  the  yellow  light  of  the  moon.  The 


n6  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

warm,  delicious  air  was  laden  with  the  odor  of  trees  and 
sweetbrier,  and  to  the  song  the  breath  of  the  south  wind 
played  an  accompaniment  of  exquisite  cadence  upon  the 
leaves.  I  seem  to  hear  them  singing,  —  Billy's  piping  treble, 
plaintive,  quaint,  and  almost  sweet,  carrying  the  tenor  to 
Die's  bass.  There  was  no  soprano.  '  The  concert  was  all 
tenor  and  bass,  south  wind,  and  rustling  leaves.  The  song 
helped  Die  to  express  his  happiness,  and  enabled  Billy  to 
throw  off  the  remnants  of  his  heartache.  Music  is  a  surer 
antidote  to  disappointment,  past,  present,  and  future,  than 
the  philosophy  of  all  the  Stoics  that  ever  lived ;  and  if 
all  who  know  the  truth  of  that  statement  were  to  read 
these  pages,  Billy  Little  would  have  many  millions  of 
sympathizers. 

Die  did  not  neglect  Rita's  note,  but  read  it  many  times 
after  he  had  lighted  the  candle  in  the  loft  where  he  and 
Billy  were  to  sleep.  Long  after  Billy  had  gone  to  bed  Die 
sat  up,  thinking  of  Rita,  and  anon  replenishing  his  store 
of  ecstasy  from  the  full  fountain  of  her  note.  After  an 
unreasonable  period  of  waiting  Billy  said  :  — 

"  If  you  intend  to  sit  there  all  night,  I  wish  you  would 
smother  the  candle.  It's  filling  the  room  with  bugs.  Here 
is  a  straddle-bug  of  some  sort  that's  been  trying  to  saw  my 
foot  off." 

"  In  a  moment,  Billy  Little,"  answered  Die.  The  mo 
ment  stretched  into  many  minutes,  until  Billy,  growing 
restive,  threw  his  shoe  at  the  candle  and  felled  it  in  dark 
ness  to  the  floor.  Die  laughed  and  went  to  bed,  and  Billy 
fell  into  so  great  a  fit  of  laughter  that  he  could  hardly  check 
it.  Neither  slept  much,  and  by  sun-up  Billy  was  riding 
homeward. 

That  he  might  be  sure  to  be  on  time,  Die  was  at  the 
step-off  by  half-past  two,  and  five  minutes  later  Rita  ap 
peared.  The  step-off  was  at  a  deep  bend  in  the  river 
where  the  low-hanging  water-elm,  the  redbud,  and  the  dog- 


THE   FIGHT   BY   THE   RIVER   SIDE    117 

wood,  springing  in  vast  luxuriance  from  the  rich  bottom 
soil,  were  covered  by  a  thick  foliage  of  wild  grape-vines. 

"  The  river  path,"  used  only  as  a  "  horse  road  "  and  by 
pedestrians,  left  the  river  at  the  upper  bend,  crossing  the 
narrow  peninsula  formed  by  the  winding  stream,  and  did 
not  intrude  upon  the  shady  nook  of  raised  ground  at  the 
point  of  the  peninsula  next  the  water's  edge.  There  was, 
however,  a  horse  path  —  wagon  roads  were  few  and  far 
apart  —  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  This  path  was 
little  used,  save  by  hunters,  the  west  side  of  the  river 
being  government  land,  and  at  that  time  a  vast  stretch  of 
unbroken  forest.  Rita  had  chosen  the  step-off  for  her 
trysting-place  because  of  its  seclusion,  and  partly,  perhaps, 
for  the.  sake  of  its  beauty.  She  and  Die  could  be  seen 
only  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  she  thought 
no  one  Vould  be  hunting  at  that  time  of  the  year.  The 
pelts  of  fur-giving  animals  taken  then  were  unfit  for  mar 
ket.  Venison  was  soft,  and  pheasants  and  turkeys  were 
sitting.  There  would  be  nothing  she  would  wish  to  con 
ceal  in  meeting  Die ;  but  the  instinct  of  all  animate  nature 
is  to  do  its  love-making  in  secret 

"  Oh,  Die,"  said  the  girl,  after  they  were  seated  on  a 
low,  rocky  bench  under  a  vine-covered  redbud,  "  oh,  Die,  I 
did  so  long  to  speak  to  you  last  night.  After  what  hap 
pened  night  before  last  —  it  seems  ages  ago  —  I  have 
lived  in  a  dream,  and  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  and  assure 
myself  that  it  is  all  true  and  real." 

"  It  is  as  real  as  you  and  I,  Rita,  and  I  have  brought 
you  something  that  will  always  make  you  know  it  is  real." 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful,  Die  ? "  said  the  girl,  looking  up  to 
him  with  a  childish  wistf  ulness  of  expression  that  would 
always  remain  in  her  eyes.  "  Isn't  it  wonderful  that  this 
good  fortune  has  come  to  me  ?  I  can  hardly  realize  that  it 
is  true."  , 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  the  one  to  whom  the  good  fortune  has 


n8  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

really  come,"  replied  Die.  "  You  are  so  generous  that  you 
give  me  yourself,  and  that  is  the  richest  present  on  earth." 

"Ah,  but  you  are  so  generous  that  you  take  me.  I  can 
not  understand  it  all  yet;  I  suppose  I  shall  in  time.  But 
what  have  you  brought  that  will  make  me  know  it  is  all 
real  ? " 

Die  then  brought  forth  the  ivory  box  and  held  it  behind 
him. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  eagerly. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  commanded  Die.  The  hand  was 
promptly  surrendered. 

"  Now  close  your  eyes,"  he  continued.  The  eyes  were 
closed,  very,  very  honestly.  Rita  knew  no  other  way  of 
doing  anything,  and  never  so  much  as  thought  of  peeping. 
Then  Die  lifted  the  soft  little  hand  to  his  lips,  and  slipped 
the  gold  band  on  the  third  finger. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  it  is  now,"  she  cried  delightedly,  but 
she  would  not  look  till  Die  should  say  "  open."  "  Open  " 
was  said,  and  the  girl  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Oh,  Die,  where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

Bear  this  fact  in  mind  :  If  you  live  among  the  trees,  the 
wild  flowers,  and  the  birds,  you  will  always  remain  a  child. 
Rita  was  little  more  than  a  child  in  years,  and  I  know  you 
will  love  Die  better  because  within  his  man's  heart  was 
still  the  heart  of  his  childhood.  The  great  oak  of  the  for 
est  year  by  year  takes  on  its  encircling  layer  of  wood,  but 
the  layers  of  a  century  still  enclose  the  heart  of  a  sprig 
that  burst  forth  upon  a  spring  morning  from  its  mother 
acorn. 

For  a  moment  after  Rita  asked  Die  where  he  got  the 
ring  he  regretted  he  had  not  bought  it,  but  he  said  :  — 

"  Billy  Little  gave  it  to  me  that  I  might  give  it  to  you  ; 
so  it  really  is  his  present." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  spread  over  her  face,  but  it 
lasted  only  a  moment. 


THE   FIGHT    BY   THE    RIVER   SIDE    119 

"  But  you  give  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "  It  was  really 
yours,  and  you  give  it  to  me.  I  am  almost  glad  it  comes 
from  Billy  Little.  He  has  been  so  much  to  me.  You 
are  by  nature  different  from  other  men,  but  the  best  dif 
ference  we  owe  to  Billy  Little."  The  pronoun  "we" 
was  significant.  It  meant  that  she  also  was  Billy  Little's 
debtor  for  the  good  he  had  brought  to  Die,  since  now 
that  wonderful  young  man  belonged  to  her. 

"  I  wonder  where  he  got  it  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Die.  "  He  said  he  valued  it 
above  all  else  he  possessed,  and  told  me  it  had  brought  him 
his  sweetest  joy  and  his  bitterest  grief.  I  think  he  gave  it 
to  a  sweetheart  long  years  ago,  and  she  was  compelled  to 
return  it  and  to  marry  another  man.  I  am  only  guessing. 
I  don't  know." 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  not  keep  it,"  returned  the  girl, 
with  a  touch  of  her  forest-life  superstition.  "  It  might 
bring  the  same  fate  to  us.  I  could  not  bear  it,  Die,  now. 
I  should  die.  Before  you  spoke  to  me  —  before  that  night 
of  Scott's  social  —  it  would  have  been  hard  enough  for  me 
to  —  to  —  but  now,  Die,  I  couldn't  bear  to  lose  you,  nor  to 
marry  another.  I  could  not ;  indeed,  I  could  not.  Let  us 
not  keep  the  ring." 

Die's  ardor  concerning  the  ring  was  dampened,  but  he 
said :  — 

"  Nonsense,  Rita,  you  surprise  me.  Nothing  can  come 
between  us." 

"  I  fear  others  have  thought  the  same  way.  Perhaps  Billy 
Little  and  his  sweetheart "  —  she  was  almost  ready  for  tears. 

"  Yes,  but  what  can  come  between  us  ?  Your  parents, 
I  hope,  won't  object.  Mine  won't,  and  we  don't  —  do  we  ?  " 
said  Die,  argumentatively. 

"  Ah,"  answered  Rita  with  her  lips,  but  her  eyes,  whose 
language  Dick  was  beginning  to  comprehend,  said  a  great 
deal  more  than  can  be  expressed  in  mere  words. 


120  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"Then  what  save  death  can  separate  us?"  asked  Die. 
"  We  would  offend  Billy  Little  by  returning  the  ring,  and 
it  looks  pretty  on  your  finger.  Don't  you  like  it,  Rita  ?  " 

"  Y-e-s,"  she  responded,  her  head  bent  doubtingly  to  one 
side,  as  she  glanced  down  at  the  ring. 

"You  don't  feel  superstitious  about  it,  do  you?"  he 
asked. 

"  N-o-o." 

"  Then  we'll  keep  it,  won't  we  ? " 

"Y-e-s." 

He  drew  the  girl  toward  him  and  she  turned  her  face 
upward. 

He  would  have  kissed  her  had  he  not  been  startled  by  a 
call  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 

"Here,  here,  stop  that.  That'll  never  do.  Too  fine- 
haired  and  modest  for  a  kissing  game,  but  mighty  willin' 
when  all  alone.  We'll  come  over  and  get  into  the  game 
ourselves." 

Die  and  Rita  looked  up  quickly  and  saw  the  huge  figure 
of  Doug  Hill  standing  on  the  opposite  bank  with  a  gun 
over  his  shoulder  and  a  bottle  of  whiskey  in  his  uplifted 
hand.  By  his  side  was  his  henchman,  Patsy  Clark.  The 
situation  was  a  trying  one  for  Die.  He  could  not  fight  the 
ruffian  in  Rita's  presence,  and  he  had  no  right  to  tell  him 
to  move  on.  So  he  paid  no  attention  to  Doug's  hail,  and 
in  a  moment  that  worthy  Nimrod  passed  up  the  river. 
Die  and  Rita  were  greatly  frightened,  and  when  Doug 
passed  out  of  sight  into  the  forest  they  started  home. 
They  soon  reached  the  path  and  were  walking  slowly  down 
toward  Bays's,  when  they  were  again  startled  by  the  dis 
agreeable  voice  of  the  Douglas.  This  time  the  voice 
came  from  immediately  back  of  them,  and  Die  placed 
himself  behind  Rita. 

"  I've  come  to  get  my  kiss,"  said  Doug,  laughing  boister 
ously.  He  was  what  he  called  "full";  not  drunk,  but 


"'I'VE   COME   TO   GET   MY    KISS,'   SAID    DOUG." 


THE   FIGHT   BY   THE    RIVER   SIDE    123 

"comfortable,"  which  meant  uncomfortable  for  those  who 
happened  to  be  near  him.  "  I've  come  for  my  kiss,"  he 
cried  again. 

"  You'll  not  get  it,"  answered  Rita,  who  was  brave  when 
Die  was  between  her  and  her  foe.  Die,  wishing  to  avoid 
trouble,  simply  said,  "  I  guess  not." 

"Oh,  you  guess  not?"  said  Doug,  apparently  much 
amused.  "  You  guess  not  ?  Well,  we'll  see,  Mr.  Fine- 
hair  ;  we'll  see."  Thereupon,  he  rested  his  gun  against  a 
tree,  stepped  quickly  past  Die,  and  seized  Rita  around  the 
waist.  He  was  drawing  her  head  backward  to  help  him 
self  when  Die  knocked  him  down.  Patsy  Clark  then 
sprang  upon  Die,  and,  in  imitation  of  his  chief,  fell  to  the 
ground.  Doug  and  Patsy  at  once  rose  to  their  feet  and 
rushed  toward  Die.  Rita  screamed,  as  of  course  any  right- 
minded  woman  would  have  done,  and,  clasping  her  hands 
in  terror,  looked  on  fascinated  and  almost  paralyzed. 
Patsy  came  first  and  again  took  a  fall.  This  time,  from 
necessity  or  inclination,  —  probably  the  latter,  —  he  did 
not  rise,  but  left  the  drunken  Douglas  to  face  Die  single- 
handed  and  alone.  Though  tall  and  strong,  Die  was  by 
no  means  the  equal  of  Doug  in  the  matter  of  bulk,  and 
in  a  grappling  match  Doug  could  soon  have  killed  him. 
Die  fully  understood  this,  and,  being  more  active  than  his 
huge  foe,  endeavored  to  keep  him  at  arm's  length.  In  this 
he  was  successful  for  a  time ;  but  at  last  the  grapple  came, 
and  both  men  fell  to  the  ground  —  Doug  Hill  on  top.  Poor 
Rita  was  in  a  frenzy  of  terror.  She  could  not  even  scream. 
She  could  only  press  her  hands  to  her  heart  and  look. 
When  Die  and  Doug  fell  to  the  ground,  Patsy  Clark,  be 
lieving  himself  safe,  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  Doug 
cried  out  to  him  :  — 

"  Give  me  your  knife,  Patsy,  give  me  your  knife." 
Patsy  at  once  responded  by  placing  his  hunting-knife  in 
Doug's  left  hand.  Die  saw  his  imminent  danger  and  with 


i24  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

his  right  hand  clasped  Doug's  left  wrist  in  a  grasp  that 
could  not  be  loosened.  After  several  futile  attempts  to 
free  his  wrist,  Doug  tossed  the  knife  over  to  his  right  side. 
It  fell  a  few  inches  beyond  his  reach,  and  he  tried  to  grasp 
it.  Rita  saw  that  very  soon  he  would  reach  the  knife,  and 
Die's  peril  brought  back  her  presence  of  mind.  Doug  put 
forth  terrific  efforts  to  reach  the  knife,  and,  despite  Die's 
resistance,  soon  had  it  in  his  grasp.  In  getting  the  knife, 
however,  Doug  gave  Die  an  opportunity  to  throw  him  off, 
and  he  did  so,  quickly  springing  to  his  feet.  Doug  was 
on  his  feet  in  a  twinkling,  and  rushed  upon  Die  with  up 
lifted  knife.  Die  knew  that  he  could  not  withstand  the 
rush,  and  thought  his  hour  had  come ;  but  the  sharp  crack 
of  a  rifle  broke  the  forest  silence,  and  the  knife  fell  from 
Doug's  nerveless  hand,  his  knees  shook  under  him,  his 
form  quivered  spasmodically  for  a  moment,  and  he  plunged 
forward  on  his  face.  Die  turned  and  saw  Rita  standing 
back  of  him,  holding  Doug's  rifle  to  her  shoulder,  a  tiny 
curl  of  blue  smoke  issuing  from  the  barrel.  The  girl's  face 
turned  pale,  the  gun  fell  from  her  hands,  her  eyes  closed, 
and  she  would  have  fallen  had  not  Die  caught  her  in  his 
arms.  He  did  not  so  much  as  glance  at  Doug,  but  at 
once  carried  the  unconscious  Rita  home  with  all  the  speed 
he  could  make. 

"  Now  for  goodness'  sake,  what  has  she  been  doing  ? " 
cried  Mrs.  Bays,  as  Die  entered  the  front  door  with  his 
almost  lifeless  burden.  "That  girl  will  be  the  death  of 
me  yet." 

"  She  has  fainted,"  replied  Die,  "  and  I  fear  she's  dead." 
With  a  wild  scream  Mrs.  Bays  snatched  Rita  from  Die's 
arms  in  a  frenzy  of  grief  that  bore  a  touch  of  jealousy. 
In  health  and  happiness  Rita  for  her  own  good  must  bow 
beneath  the  rod ;  but  in  sickness  or  in  death  Rita  was  her 
child,  and  no  strange  hand  should  minister  to  her.  A 
blessed  philosopher's  stone  had  for  once  transmuted  her 


THE    FIGHT   BY   THE    RIVER   SIDE    125 

hard,  barren  sense  of  justice  to  glowing  love.  She  carried 
the  girl  into  the  house  and  applied  restoratives.  After  a 
little  time  Rita  breathed  a  sigh  and  opened  her  eyes.  Her 
first  word  was  "  Die !  " 

"  Here  I  am,  Rita,"  he  softly  answered,  stepping  to  her 
bedside  and  taking  her  hand.  Mrs.  Bays,  after  her  first 
inquiry,  had  asked  no  questions,  and  Die  had  given  no 
information.  After  Rita's  return  to  consciousness  tears 
began  to  trickle  down  her  mother's  furrowed  cheek,  and, 
ashamed  of  her  weakness,  she  left  the  room.  Die  knelt  by 
Rita's  bed  and  kissed  her  hands,  her  eyes,  her  lips.  His 
caresses  were  the  best  of  all  restoratives,  and  when  Mrs. 
Bays  returned,  Rita  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
Die's  arm  supporting  her  and  her  head  resting  on  his 
shoulder.  Mrs.  Bays  came  slowly  toward  them.  The 
girl's  habitual  fear  of  her  mother  returned,  and  lifting  her 
head  she  tried  to  move  away  from  Die,  but  he  held  her. 
Mrs.  Bays  reached  the  bedside  and  stood  facing  them  in 
silence.  The  court  of  love  had  adjourned.  The  court  of 
justice  was  again  in  session.  She  snatched  up  Rita's  hand 
and  pointed  to  the  ring. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  sternly. 

" That  is  our  engagement  ring,"  answered  Die.  "Rita 
has  promised  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Never !  "  cried  the  old  woman,  out  of  the  spirit  of  pure 
antagonism.  "  Never !  "  she  repeated,  closing  her  lips  in  a 
spasm  of  supposed  duty.  Rita's  heart  sank,  and  Die's 
seemed  heavier  by  many  pounds  than  a  few  moments 
before,  though  he  did  not  fear  the  apostle  of  justice  and 
duty  as  did  Rita.  He  hoped  to  marry  Rita  at  once  with 
her  mother's  consent ;  but  if  he  could  not  have  that,  he 
would  wait  until  the  girl  was  eighteen,  when  she  could 
legally  choose  for  herself.  Out  of  his  confidence  came 
calmness,  and  he  asked, 

"  Why  shall  not  Rita  be  my  wife  ?     She  shall  want  for 


i26  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

nothing,  and  I  will  try  to  make  her  happy.  Why  do  you 
object  ? " 

"Because  —  because  I  do,"  returned  Mrs.  Bays. 

"  In  so  important  a  matter  as  this,  Mrs.  Bays,  'because' 
is  not  a  sufficient  reason." 

"  I  don't  have  to  give  you  a  reason,"  she  answered 
sharply. 

"You  are  a  good  woman,  Mrs.  Bays,"  continued  Die, 
with  a  deliberate  and  base  intent  to  flatter.  "  No  man  or 
woman  has  ever  had  injustice  at  your  hands,  and  I,  who 
am  almost  your  son,  ask  that  justice  which  you  would  not 
refuse  to  the  meanest  person  on  Blue." 

The  attack  was  unfair.  Is  it  ever  fair  to  gain  our  point 
by  flattering  another's  weakness  ?  Die's  statement  of  the 
case  was  hard  to  evade,  so  Mrs.  Margarita  answered :  — 

"The  girl's  too  young  to  marry.  I'll  never  consent. 
I'll  have  nothing  of  the  sort  going  on,  for  a  while  at  any 
rate ;  give  him  back  the  ring." 

Rita  slipped  the  ring  from  her  finger  and  placed  it  in 
Die's  hand. 

"Now  tell  me,"  Mrs.  Bays  demanded,  "how  this  came 
about?  How  came  Rita  to  faint?" 

Rita  hung  her  head  and  began  to  weep  convulsively. 

"  Rita  and  I,"  answered  Die,  "were  walking  home  down 
the  river  path.  We  had  been  sitting  near  the  step-off. 
Doug  Hill  and  Patsy  Clark  came  up  behind  us,  and  Doug 
tried  to  kiss  Rita.  I  interfered,  and  we  fought.  He  was 
about  to  kill  me  with  Patsy's  hunting-knife  when — when 
—  when  I  shot  him.  Then  Rita  fainted,  and  I  feared  she 
was  dead,  so  I  brought  her  home  and  left  Doug  lying  on 
his  face,  with  Patsy  Clark  standing  over  him." 

Rita  so  far  recovered  herself  as  to  be  able  to  say  :  — 

"No,  mother,  I  killed  him." 

"  You,"  shrieked  Mrs.  Bays,  "you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  replied. 


THE   FIGHT   BY   THE   RIVER   SIDE    127 

"Yes,"  replied  Die  to  Mrs.  Bays's  incredulous  look, 
"  that  was  the  way  of  it,  but  I  was  the  cause,  and  I  shall 
take  the  blame.  You  had  better  not  speak  of  this  matter 
to  any  one  till  we  have  consulted  Billy  Little.  I  can  bear 
the  blame  much  better  than  Rita  can.  When  the  trial 
comes,  you  and  Rita  say  nothing.  I  will  plead  guilty  to 
having  killed  Doug  Hill,  and  no  questions  will  be  asked." 

"  If  you  will  do  it,  Die,  if  you  will  do  it,"  wailed  Mrs. 
Bays. 

"  I  certainly  will,"  returned  Die. 

"  No,  you  shall  not,"  said  Rita. 

"  You  must  be  guided  by  your  mother  and  me,"  replied 
Die.  "  I  know  what  is  best,  and  if  you  will  do  as  we  direct, 
all  may  turn  out  better  than  we  now  hope.  He  was  about 
to  kill  me,  and  I  had  a  right  to  kill  him.  I  do  not  know 
the  law  certainly,  but  I  fear  you  had  no  right  to  kill  him 
in  my  defence.  I  have  read  in  the  law  books  that  a  man 
may  take  another's  life  in  the  defence  of  one  whom  he  is 
bound  to  protect.  I  fear  you  had  no  right  to  kill  Doug 
Hill  for  my  sake." 

"  I  had,  oh,  I  had  !  "  sobbed  Rita. 

"  But  you  will  be  guided  by  your  mother  and  me,  will 
you  not,  Rita  ? "  Despite  fears  of  her  mother,  the  girl 
buried  her  face  on  Die's  breast,  and  entwining  her  arms 
about  his  neck  whispered  :  — 

"  I  will  be  guided  by  you." 

Die  then  arose  and  said :  "  It  may  be  that  Doug  is  not 
dead.  I  will  take  one  of  your  horses,  Mrs.  Bays,  and  ride 
to  town  for  Dr.  Kennedy." 

Within  ten  minutes  Die  was  with  Billy  Little,  telling 
him  the  story.  "  I'm  going  for  Kennedy,"  said  Die. 
"  Saddle  your  horse  quickly  and  ride  up  with  us." 

Five  minutes  later,  Die,  Kennedy,  and  Billy  Little  were 
galloping  furiously  up  the  river  to  the  scene  of  battle. 
When  they  reached  it,  Doug,  much  to  Die's  joy,  was  seated 


i28  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

leaning  against  a  tree.  His  shirt  had  been  torn  away,  and 
Patsy  was  washing  the  bullet  wound  in  the  breast  and  back, 
for  the  bullet  had  passed  entirely  through  Doug's  body. 

"Well,  he's  not  dead  yet,"  cried  Kennedy.  "  So  far,  so 
good.  Now  we'll  see  if  I  can  keep  from  killing  him." 

While  the  doctor  was  at  work  Die  took  Billy  to  one  side. 
"  I  told  Mrs.  Bays  and  Rita  not  to  speak  about  this  affair," 
he  said.  "  I  will  say  upon  the  trial  that  I  fired  the  shot." 

"Why,  Die,  that  will  never  do." 

"  Yes,  it  will ;  it  must.  You  see,  I  had  a  good  right  to 
kill  him,  but  Rita  had  not.  At  any  rate,  don't  you  know 
that  they  might  as  well  kill  Rita  at  once  as  to  try  her  ? 
She  couldn't  live  through  a  trial  for  murder.  It  would  kill 
her  or  drive  her  insane.  I'll  plead  guilty.  That  will  stop 
all  questioning." 

"Yes,"  replied  Billy,  deep  in  revery,  and  stroking  his 
chin;  "perhaps  you  are  right.  But  how  about  Hill  and 
Clark  ?  They  will  testify  that  Rita  did  the  shooting." 

"  No  one  will  have  the  chance  to  testify  if  I  plead  guilty," 
said  Die. 

"  And  if  Doug  should  die,  you  may  hang  or  go  to  prison 
for  life  on  a  mere  unexplained  plea  of  guilty.  That  shall 
never  happen  with  my  consent." 

"  Billy  Little,  you  can't  prevent  it.  I'll  make  a  plea  of 
guilty,"  responded  Die,  sharply ;  "  and  if  you  try  to  inter 
fere,  I'll  never  speak  your  name  again,  as  God  is  my  help." 

Billy  winced.  "  No  wonder  she  loves  you,"  he  said. 
"I'll  not  interfere.  But  take  this  advice:  say  nothing 
till  we  have  consulted  Switzer.  Don't  enter  a  plea  of 
guilty.  You  must  be  tried.  I  believe  I  have  a  plan  that 
may  help  us." 

"  What  is  it,  Billy  Little  ? "  asked  Die,  eagerly. 

"  I'll  not  tell  you  now.  Trust  me  for  a  time  without 
questions,  Die.  I  am  good  for  something,  I  hope." 

"You  are  good   for   everything  concerning   me,   Billy 


THE    FIGHT   BY   THE    RIVER   SIDE    129 

Little,"  said  Die.  "  I  will  trust  you  and  ask  no  ques 
tions." 

"  Little,"  said  Kennedy,  "  if  you  will  make  a  stretcher  of 
boughs  we  will  carry  Hill  up  to  Bright's  house  and  take 
him  home  in  a  wagon.  I  think  he  may  live."  Accord 
ingly,  a  rude  litter  was  constructed,  and  the  four  men 
carried  the  wounded  Douglas  to  Die's  house,  where  he  was 
placed  upon  a  couch  of  hay  in  a  wagon,  and  taken  to  his 
home,  two  or  three  miles  eastward. 

On  the  road  over,  Billy  Little  asked  Dr.  Kennedy  to  lead 
his  horse  while  he  talked  to  Patsy  Clark,  who  was  driving 
in  the  wagon. 

"  How  did  Die  happen  to  shoot  him  ?  "  asked  Billy  when 
he  was  seated  beside  Patsy. 

"  D-Dic  d-di-didn't  shoot  him.  Ri-ta  did,"  stuttered 
Doug's  henchman. 

"  No,  Patsy,  it  was  Die,"  said  Billy  Little. 

"  I-I  re-reckon  I  or-orter  know,"  stammered  Patsy. 
"  I-I  was  there  and  s-saw  it.  You  wasn't." 

"  You're  wrong,  Patsy,"  insisted  Billy. 

"  B-by  Ned,  I  re-reckon  I  know,"  he  returned. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,  Patsy,"  said  Billy,  impressively.  "  I 
say  you  are  wrong,  and  —  by  the  way,  Patsy,  I  want  you 
to  do  a  few  little  odd  jobs  about  the  store  for  the  next 
month  or  so.  I'll  not  need  you  frequently,  but  I  should 
like  to  have  you  available  at  any  time.  If  you  will  come 
down  to  the  store,  I  will  pay  you  twenty  dollars  wages  in 
advance,  and  later  on  I  will  give  you  another  twenty.  You 
are  a  good  fellow,  and  I  want  to  help  you ;  but  I  am  sure 
you  are  wrong  in  this  case.  I  know  it  was  Die  who  fired 
the  shot.  Now,  think  for  a  moment.  Wasn't  it  Die  ?  " 

"  We-well,  c-come  to  think  a-a-about  it,  I  believe  you're 
right.  Damned  if  I  don't.  He  t-tuk  the  gun  and  jes' 
b-b-blazed  away." 

"  I  knew  that  was  the  way  of  it,"  said  Billy,  quietly. 


130 


A   FOREST   HEARTH 


"  B-betch  yur  life  it  was  jes'  that-a-way.  H-how  the  h — 
did  you  know  ?  " 

"  Die  told  me,"  answered  Billy. 

"  Well,  that-a-a-a-way  was  the  way  it  was,  sure  as  you're 
alive." 

"  You're  sure  of  it  now,  Patsy,  are  you  ? " 

"  D-dead  sure.  Wa-wa-wasn't  I  there  and  d-d-didn't  I 
see  it  all  ?  Yes,  sir,  d-d-dead  sure.  And  the  tw-twenty 
dollars  ?  I'll  g-get  it  to-morrow,  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  A-and  the  other  t-t-twenty  ?     I'll  get  it  later,  eh  ? " 

"  You  can  trust  me,  can't  you,  Patsy  ? "  queried  Billy. 

"  B-betch  yur  life  I  can.  E-e-e-everybody  does.  B-but 
how  much  later  ?  " 

"  When  it  is  all  over,"  answered  Billy. 

"  A-all  right,"  responded  his  stuttering  friend. 

"  But,"  asked  Billy,  "  if  Doug  recovers,  and  should  think 
as  you  did  at  first,  that  Rita  fired  the  shot  ? " 

"  Sa-sa-say,  B-Billy  Little,  you  couldn't  make  it  an 
other  t-t-twenty  later  on  for  that  ere  job  about  the  st-store, 
could  ye  ? " 

"  I  think  I  can,"  returned  Billy. 

"Well,  then,  Doug'll  g-get  it  straight — never  you  f-f- 
fear.  He  was  crazy  drunk  and  ha-ha-half  blind  with  blood 
where  Die  knocked  him,  and  he  didn't  know  who  f-f-fired 
the  shot" 

"  But  suppose  he  should  know  ?  " 

"  B-but  he  won't  know,  I-I  tell  ye.  I-I  t-trust  you ; 
c-can't  you  trust  Patsy  ?  I-I'm  not  as  big  a  f-fool  as  I  look. 
I-I  let  p-people  think  I'm  a  fool  because  when  p-people 
think  you're  a  f-fool,  it's  lots  easier  t-t-to  work  'em.  See  ?  " 

Billy  left  Doug  hovering  between  life  and  death,  and 
hurried  back  to  Die.  "  Patsy  says  you  took  the  gun  from 
where  it  was  leaning  against  the  tree  and  shot  Hill.  I 


THE   FIGHT   BY   THE   RIVER   SIDE    131 

suppose  he  doesn't  know  exactly  how  it  did  happen.  I 
told  him  you  said  that  was  the  way  of  it,  and  he  assents. 
He  says  Doug  doesn't  know  who  fired  the  shot.  We  shall 
be  able  to  leave  Rita  entirely  out  of  the  case,  and  you  may, 
with  perfect  safety,  enter  a  plea  of  self-defence." 

Die  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  longed  to  thank  Billy, 
but  dared  not,  and  the  old  friend  rode  homeward  unthanked 
but  highly  satisfied. 

On  the  way  home  Billy  fell  into  deep  thought,  and  the 
thoughts  grew  into  mutterings :  "  Billy  Little,  you  are  com 
ing  to  great  things.  A  briber,  a  suborner  of  perjury,  a  liar. 
I  expect  soon  to  hear  of  you  stealing.  Burglary  is  a  profit 
able  and  honorable  occupation.  Go  it,  Billy  Little.  — And 
for  this  you  came  like  a  wise  man  out  of  the  East  to  leaven 
the  loaf  of  the  West — all  for  the  sake  of  a  girl,  a  mere  child, 
whom  you  are  foolish  enough  to  —  nonsense — and  for  the 
sake  of  the  man  she  is  to  marry."  Then  the  grief  of  his  life 
seemed  to  come  back  to  him  in  a  flood,  and  he  continued 
almost  bitterly :  "  I  don't  believe  I  have  led  an  evil  life.  I 
don't  want  to  feel  like  a  Pharisee ;  but  I  don't  recollect 
having  injured  any  man  or  woman  in  the  whole  course  of 
my  miserable  existence,  yet  I  have  missed  all  that  is  best 
in  life.  Even  when  I  have  not  suffered,  my  life  has  been 
a  pale,  tasteless  blank  with  nothing  but  a  little  poor  music 
and  worse  philosophy  to  break  the  monotony.  The  little 
pleasure  I  have  had  from  any  source  has  been  enjoyed 
alone,  and  no  joy  is  complete  unless  one  may  give  at  least 
a  part  of  it  to  another.  If  one  has  a  pleasure  all  to  him 
self,  he  is  apt  to  hate  it  at  times,  and  this  is  one  of  the 
times.  Billy  Little,  you  must  be  suffering  for  the  sins  of 
an  ancestor.  I  wonder  what  he  did,  damn  him." 

This  mood  was  unusual  for  Billy.  In  his  youth  he  had 
been  baptized  with  the  chrism  of  sorrow  and  was  safe  from 
the  devil  of  discontent.  He  was  by  nature  an  apostle  of 
sunshine ;  but  when  we  consider  all  the  facts,  I  know  you 


i32  A  FOREST   HEARTH 

will  agree  with  me  that  he  had  upon  this  occasion  good 
right  to  be  a  little  cloudy. 

That  evening  Die  was  arrested  and  held  in  jail  pending 
Doug  Hill's  recovery  or  death.  Should  Douglas  die,  Die 
would  be  held  for  murder  and  would  not  be  entitled  to 
bail.  In  case  of  conviction  for  premeditated  murder,  death 
or  imprisonment  for  life  would  be  his  doom.  If  Doug 
should  recover,  the  charge  against  Die  would  be  assault 
and  battery,  with  intent  to  commit  murder,  conviction  for 
which  would  mean  imprisonment  for  a  term  of  years.  If 
self-defence  could  be  established  —  and  owing  to  the  fact 
that  neither  Die  nor  Rita  was  to  testify,  "that  would  be 
difficult  to  accomplish  —  Die  would  go  free.  These  enor 
mous  "  ifs "  complicated  the  case,  and  Die  was  detained 
in  jail  till  Doug's  fate  should  be  known. 


THE   TRIAL 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  TRIAL 

1  SHALL  not  try  to  tell  you  of  Rita's  suffering.     She 
wept  till  she  could  weep  no  more,  and  the  nightmare 
of  suspense  settled  on  her  heart  in  the  form  of  dry-eyed 
suffering.     She  could  not,  even  for  a  moment,  free  her 
mind  from  the  fact  that  Die  was  in  jail  and  that  his  life 
was  in  peril  on  account  of  her  act.     Billy  went  every  day 
to  encourage  her  and  to  keep  her  silent  by  telling  her  that 
Die  would  be  cleared.     Mrs.   Bays  prohibited   her  from 
visiting  the  jail;  but,  despite  Rita's  fear  of  her  mother,  the 
girl  would  have  gone  had  not  Die  emphatically  forbidden. 
Doug  recovered,  and,  court  being  then  in  session,  Die's 
trial  for  assault  and  battery,  with  intent  to  commit  murder, 
came  up  at  once.     I  shall  not  take  you  through  the  tedious 
details  of  the  trial,  but  will  hasten  over  such  portions  as 
closely  touch  the  fate  of  our  friends. 

Upon  the  morning  of  Die's  arraignment  he  was  brought 
into  court  and  the  jury  was  empanelled.  Rita  had  begged 
piteously  to  go  to  the  trial,  but  for  many  reasons  that 
privilege  was  denied.  The  bar  was  rilled  with  lawyers,  and 
the  courtroom  was  crowded  with  spectators.  Mr.  Switzer 
defended  Die,  who  sat  near  him  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
judge,  the  State's  attorney,  with  Doug  Hill  and  Patsy 
Clark,  the  prosecuting  witnesses,  sitting  opposite  on  the 
judge's  left.  The  jury  sat  opposite  the  judge,  and  be 
tween  the  State's  attorney  and  Mr.  Switzer  and  the  judge 
and  the  jury  was  an  open  space  fifteen  feet  square.  On  a 


I36  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

raised  platform  in  this  vacant  space  was  the  witness  chair, 
facing  the  jury. 

Doug  Hill  and  Patsy  Clark  were  the  only  witnesses  for 
the  State.  The  defendant  had  summoned  no  witnesses, 
and  Die's  fate  rested  in  the  hands  of  his  enemy  and  his 
enemy's  henchman. 

Patsy  and  Doug  had  each  done  a  great  deal  of  talking, 
and  time  and  again  had  asserted  that  Die  had  deliberately 
shot  Doug  Hill  after  the  fight  was  over.  Mr.  Switzer's 
only  hope  seemed  to  be  to  clear  Dick  on  cross-examination 
of  Doug  and  Patsy. 

"  Not  one  lie  in  a  hundred  can  survive  a  hot  cross- 
examination,"  he  said.  "If  a  woman  is  testifying  for 
the  man  she  loves,  or  for  her  child,  she  will  carry  the  lie 
through  to  the  end  without  faltering.  Every  instinct  of 
her  nature  comes  to  her  help ;  but  a  man  sooner  or  later 
bungles  a  lie  if  you  make  him  angry  and  keep  at  him." 

Doug  was  the  first  witness  called.  He  testified  that 
after  the  fight  was  over  Die  snatched  up  the  gun  and 
said,  "  I'm  going  to  kill  you ;  "  that  he  then  fired  the  shot, 
and  that  afterward  Doug  remembered  nothing.  The 
story,  being  simple,  was  easily  maintained,  and  Mr.  Swit 
zer's  cross-examination  failed  to  weaken  the  evidence. 
Should  Patsy  Clark  cling  to  the  same  story  as  successfully, 
the  future  looked  dark  for  Die. 

When  Doug  left  the  stand  at  noon  recess,  Billy  rode  up 
to  see  Rita,  and  in  the  course  of  their  conversation  the  girl 
discovered  his  fears.  Billy's  dark  forebodings  did  not 
affect  her  as  he  supposed  they  would.  He  had  expected 
tears  and  grief,  but  instead  he  found  a  strange,  uncon 
cerned  calmness  that  surprised  and  puzzled  him.  Soon 
after  Billy's  departure  Rita  saddled  her  horse  and  rode 
after  him.  Mrs.  Bays  forbade  her  going,  but  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  the  girl  sullenly  refused  to  answer  her 
mother,  and  rode  away  in  dire  rebellion. 


THE    TRIAL  137 

Court  convened  at  one  o'clock,  and  Patsy  Clark  was 
called  to  the  stand.  The  State's  attorney  began  his  ex- 
amination-in-chief :  — 

Question.  —  "  State  your  name." 

Answer  by  Patsy.  —  "  Sh-shucks,  ye  know  my  name." 

"  State  your  name,"  ordered  the  Court. 

Answer.  —  "  Pa-Pa-Patsy  C-Clark." 

Question  by  State's  Attorney.  —  "Where  do  you  live?  " 

Answer.  — "  North  of  t-t-town,  with  D-Doug  Hill's 
father." 

Question.  —  "  Where  were  you,  Mr.  Clark,  on  fifth  day 
of  last  month  at  or  near  the  hour  of  three  o'clock  P.M.?  " 

Answer. —  "  Don't  know  the  day,  b-but  if  you  mean  the 
d-day  Doug  and  D-Dic  had  their  fight,  I-I  was  up  on  B- 
Blue  about  halfway  b-between  Die  Bright's  house  and 
T-Tom  Bays',  at  the  step-off." 

Question.  —  "  What,  if  anything,  occurred  at  that  time 
and  place?" 

Answer.  —  "A  f-fight  —  damned  bad  one." 

Question.  —  "  Who  fought  ?  " 

Answer.  —  "  D-Doug  Hill  and  D-Dic  Bright." 

Question.  —  "Now,  Mr.  Clark,  tell  the  jury  all  you 
heard  and  saw  take  place,  in  the  presence  of  the  defend 
ant  Die  Bright,  during  that  fight." 

The  solemnity  of  the  Court  had  made  a  deep  impression 
on  Patsy,  and  he  trembled  while  he  spoke.  He  was 
angry  because  the  State's  attorney,  as  he  supposed,  had 
pretended  not  to  know  his  name,  whereas  that  self-same 
State's  attorney  had  been  familiar  with  him  prior  to  the 
election. 

"  We'll  get  the  truth  out  of  this  fellow  on  cross-examina 
tion,"  whispered  Mr.  Switzer  to  his  client. 

"  Be  careful  not  to  get  too  much  truth  out  of  him,"  re 
turned  Die. 

Patsy  began  his  story. 


i38  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  Well,  me  and  D-Doug  was  a-g-a-goin'  up  the  west 
b-bank  of  B-Blue  when  we  seed  — 

State's  Attorney.  —  "  Never  mind  what  you  saw  at  that 
time.  Answer  my  question.  I  asked  you  to  tell  all  you 
saw  and  heard  during  the  fight." 

Answer.  — "  I-I  w-will  if  you'll  1-let  me.  J-jest  you 
keep  still  a  minute  and  1-1-let  me  t-talk.  I-I  c-can't  t-t-talk 
very  well  anyway.  C-can't  talk  near  as  well  as  you. 
B-but  I  can  say  a  he-heap  more.  Whe-whe-when  you 
talk .  so  much,  ye-ye-you  g-get  me  to  st-st-st-stuttering. 
S-see  ?  Now  listen  to  that." 

State's  Attorney.  —  "  Well,  go  on." 

Answer.  —  "  Well,  we  seed  Die  and  Rita  Bays,  p-prettiest 
girl  in  the  h-h-whole  world,  on  the  op-opposite  side  of  the 
river,  and  he  wa-wa-was  a-kissin'  her." 

State's  Attorney.  — "  Never  mind  that,  but  go  ahead. 
Tell  it  your  own  way." 

"  I  object,"  interposed  Mr.  Switzer.  "  The  witness 
must  confine  himself  to  the  State's  question." 

"  Confine  your  answer  to  the  question,  Mr.  Clark,"  com 
manded  the  Court.  Patsy  was  growing  angry,  confused, 
and  frightened. 

State's  Attorney.  —  "  Go  on.    Tell  your  story,  can't  you  ?  " 

Answer. — "Well,  Doug,  he  hollered  across  the  river 
and  said  he-he  wa-wa-wanted  one  hisself  and  would  g-g-go 
over  after  it." 

State's  Attorney.  —  "  Did  you  not  understand  my  ques 
tion  ?  What  did  you  see  and  hear  ?  What  occurred  during 
the  fight  ? " 

Answer.  —  "Well,  g-good  L-L-Lord  !  a-ain't  I  tryin'  to 
t-tell  ye  ?  When  we  crossed  the  river  and  g-got  to  the 
step-off,  Rita  and  D-Dic  had  went  away  and  D-Doug  and 
me  st-started  after  'em  down  the  path  toward  B-Bays's. 
When  we  g-got  up  t-to  'em  D-Doug  he  says,  says  'ee, 
'  I-I've  come  for  my  k-kiss,'  says  'ee,  jes'  that-a-way.  'Ye 


THE   TRIAL  139 

wo-won't  get  none/  says  Rita,  says  she,  jes'  that-a-way, 
and  D-Dic  he  p-puts  in  and  says,  says  'ee,  '  I-I  g-guess 
not,'  says  'ee,  jes'  that-a-way.  Then  Doug  he-he  puts  his 
gun  agin'  a  gum  tree  and  g-grabs  Rita  about  the  wa- 
waist,  hugging  her  up  to  him  ti-tight-like.  Then  he-he 
push  her  head  back-like,  so's  'ee  c-could  get  at  her  mouth, 
and  then  Die  he-he  ups  and  knocks  him  d-down.  Then 
D-Doug  he-he  gets  up  quick-like  and  they  clinches  and 
falls,  and  D-Doug  on  top.  Then  Doug  he-he  says,  says  'ee 
to  me,  '  G-Give  me  your  n-knife,  Patsy,'  jes'  that-a-way,  and 
I  ups  and  gives  him  my  knife,  but  he  d-drops  it  and  some 
way  D-Dic  he  throws  Doug  o-off  and  gets  up,  and  Doug 
he  picks  up  the  knife  and  st-starts  for  Die,  lookin' 
wilder  'en  hell.  Jes'  then  Rita  she  ups  with  D-Doug's  gun 
and  shoots  him  right  through.  He-he  trembled-like  for  a 
minute  and  his  knees  shuk  and  he  shivered  all  over  and 
turned  white  about  the  mouth  like  he  was  awful  sick, 
and  then  he  d-dropped  on  his  face,  shot  through  and 
through." 

The  confusion  in  the  courtroom  had  been  growing 
since  the  beginning  of  Patsy's  story,  and  by  the  time  he 
had  finished  it  broke  into  an  uproar.  The  judge  called 
"  Order,"  and  the  sheriff  rose  to  quiet  the  audience. 

State's  Attorney.  —  "Do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Clark, 
that  Rita  Bays  fired  the  shot  that  wounded  Douglas  Hill  ?  " 

Douglas,  you  remember,  had  just  sworn  that  Die  fired 
the  shot. 

Answer.  — "  Yes,  sir,  you  betch  yur  life  that's  jes'  the 
way  w-w-what  I  mean  to  say." 

State's  Attorney.  —  "  Now,  Mr.  Clark,  I'll  ask  you  if  you 
did  not  tell  me  and  many  other  citizens  of  this  community 
that  the  defendant,  Die  Bright,  fired  the  shot  ? " 

"I  object,"  cried  Mr.  Switzer.  "The  gentleman  can 
not  impeach  his  own  witness." 

"You   are   right,   Mr.  Switzer,"    answered   the    Court, 


i4o  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  unless  on  the  ground  of  surprise ;  but  I  overrule  your 
objection.  Proceed,  Mr.  State's  Attorney." 

"  Answer  my  question,"  said  that  official  to  Patsy. 

Answer.  — "  Yes,  sir,  I-I  d-did  tell  you,  and  lots  of 
other  folks,  too,  that  D-Dic  shot  Doug  Hill." 

Question.  —  "  Then,  sir,  how  do  you  reconcile  those 
statements  with  the  one  you  have  just  made  ?  " 

Answer. — "Don't  try  to  re-re-re-reconcile  'em.  Can't. 
I-I  wa-wa-was  talkin'  then.  I'm  sw-sw-swearin'  now." 

Die  sprang  to  his  feet,  exclaiming :  — 

"  If  the  Court  please,  I  wish  to  enter  a  plea  of  guilty 
to  the  charge  against  me." 

"  Your  plea  will  not  be  accepted,"  answered  the  Court. 
"  I  am  beginning  to  see  the  cause  for  the  defendant's 
peculiar  behavior  in  this  case.  Mr.  Sheriff,  please 
subpoena  Miss  Rita  Bays." 

Die  broke  down,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  folded 
arms  on  the  table. 

The  sheriff  started  to  fetch  Rita,  but  met  her  near 
the  courthouse  and  returned  with  her  to  the  courtroom. 
She  was  directed  to  take  the  witness  stand,  which  she 
did  as  calmly  as  if  she  were  taking  a  seat  at  her  father's 
dinner  table ;  and  her  story,  told  in  soft,  clear  tones, 
confirmed  Patsy  in  all  essential  details. 

Mr.  Switzer  objected  to  the  questions  put  to  her  by 
the  Court  on  the  ground  that  she  could  not  be  com 
pelled  to  give  evidence  that  would  incriminate  herself. 
The  judge  admitted  the  validity  of  Mr.  Switzer's  objec 
tion  ;  but  after  a  moment  spent  in  private  consultation 
with  the  State's  attorney,  he  said :  — 

"  The  State  and  the  Court  pledge  themselves  that  no 
prosecution  will  be  instituted  against  Miss  Bays  in  case 
her  answers  disclose  the  fact  that  she  shot  Doug  Hill." 

After  Rita  had  told  her  story  the  judge  said:  "Miss 
Bays,  you  did  right.  You  are  a  strong,  noble  girl,  and 


THE   TRIAL  141 

the  man  who  gets  you  for  a  wife  will  be  blessed  of 
God." 

Rita  blushed  and  looked  toward  Die,  as  if  to  say,  "You 
hear  what  the  judge  says?"  But  Die  had  heard,  and 
thought  the  judge  wise  and  excellent  to  a  degree  seldom, 
if  ever,  equalled  among  men. 

The  judge  then  instructed  the  jury  to  return  a  verdict 
of  not  guilty,  and  within  five  minutes  Die  was  a  free  and 
happy  man.  Billy  Little  did  not  seem  to  be  happy ;  for  he, 
beyond  a  doubt,  was  crying,  though  he  said  he  had  a  bad 
cold  and  that  colds  always  made  his  eyes  water.  He 
started  to  sing  Maxwelton's  braes  in  open  court,  but 
remembered  himself  in  time,  and  sang  mentally. 

Mrs.  Bays  had  followed  Rita;  and  when  the  girl  and 
Die  emerged  from  the  courthouse  door,  the  high  court  of 
the  Chief  Justice  seized  its  daughter  and  whisked  her  off 
without  so  much  as  giving  her  an  opportunity  to  say  a  word 
of  farewell.  Rita  looked  back  to  Die,  but  she  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  high  court,  which  was  a  tribunal  differing 
widely  from  the  nisi  prins  organization  she  had  just  left, 
and  by  no  means  to  be  trifled  with. 

Die  stopped  for  dinner  at  the  inn  with  Billy  Little,  and 
told  him  that  Mrs.  Bays  refused  her  consent. 

"  Did  you  expect  anything  else  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  answered  Die. 

"  Even  Rita  will  be  valued  more  highly  if  you  encounter 
difficulties  in  getting  her,"  replied  his  friend. 

"  I  certainly  value  her  highly  enough  as  it  is,"  said  Die, 
"  and  Mrs.  Bays's  opposition  surprises  me  a  little.  I  know 
quite  as  well  as  she — better,  perhaps  —  that  I  am  not  worthy 
of  Rita.  No  man  is.  But  I  am  not  lazy.  I  would  be  will 
ing  to  die  working  for  her.  I  am  not  very  good ;  neither 
am  I  very  bad.  She  will  make  me  good,  and  I  don't  see 
that  any  one  else  around  here  has  anything  better  to  offer 
her.  The  truth  is,  Rita  deserves  a  rich  man  from  the  city, 


i42  A   FOREST    HEARTS 

who  can  give  her  a  fine  house,  servants,  and  carriages.  It 
is  a  shame,  Billy  Little,  to  hide  such  beauty  as  Rita's 
under  a  log-cabin's  roof  in  the  woods." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  was  Billy's  unexpected  reply. 
"  But  I  don't  see  any  chance  for  her  catching  that  sort  of 
a  man  unless  her  father  goes  in  business  with  Fisher  at 
Indianapolis.  Even  there  the  field  is  not  broad.  She 
might,  if  she  lived  at  Indianapolis,  meet  a  stranger  from 
Cincinnati,  St.  Louis,  or  the  East,  and  might  marry  the 
house,  carriages,  and  servants.  I  understand  Bays  —  per 
haps  I  should  say  Mrs.  Bays  —  contemplates  making  the 
move,  and  probably  you  had  better  withdraw  your  claim 
and  give  the  girl  a  chance." 

Die  looked  doubtingly  at  his  little  friend  and  said,  "  I 
think  I  shall  not  withdraw." 

"  I  have  not  been  expecting  you  would,"  answered  Billy. 
"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  Chief  Justice  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     What  would  you  do  ?  " 

Billy  Little  paused  before  answering.  "  If  you  knew 
what  mistakes  I  have  made  in  such  matters,  you  would  not 
ask  advice  of  me." 

Die  waited,  hoping  that  Billy  would  amplify  upon  the 
subject  of  his  mistakes,  but  he  waited  in  vain.  "  Neverthe 
less,"  he  said,  "  I  want  your  advice." 

"  I  have  none  to  give,"  responded  Billy,  "  unless  it  is 
to  suggest  in  a  general  way  that  in  dealing  with  women 
boldness  has  always  been  considered  the  proper  article. 
Humility  is  sweet  in  a  beautiful  woman,  but  it  makes  a  man 
appear  sheepish.  The  first  step  toward  success  with  all 
classes  of  persons  is  to  gain  their  respect.  Humility  in  a 
man  won't  gain  the  respect  of  a  hound  pup.  Face  the 
world  bravely.  Egad !  St.  George's  little  affair  with  the 
fiery  dragon  grows  pale  when  one  thinks  of  the  icy  dragon- 
ess  of  duty  and  justice  you  must  overthrow  before  you  can 
rescue  Rita.  But  go  at  the  old  woman  as  if  you  had 


THE   TRIAL 


J43 


fought  dragons  all  your  life.  Tell  her  bluntly  that  you 
want  Rita  ;  that  you  must  and  will  have  her,  and  that  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  duty  and  justice  to  keep  her  from  you. 
Be  bold,  and  you  will  probably  get  the  girl,  together  with 
her  admiration  and  gratitude.  I  guess  there  is  no  doubt 
they  like  it  —  boldness.  But  Lord  bless  your  soul,  Die,  I 
don't  know  what  they  like.  I  think  the  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  go  to  New  York  with  Sampson,  the  horse-dealer. 
He  sails  out  of  here  in  a  few  days,  and  if  you  will  go  with 
him  he  will  pay  you  five  hundred  dollars  and  will  allow  you 
to  take  a  few  horses  on  your  own  account.  You  will  double 
your  money  if  you  take  good  horses." 

"  Do  you  really  think  he  would  pay  me  five  hundred  dol 
lars  ?  "  asked  Die. 

"Yes,  I  believe  he  will.     I'll  see  him  about  it." 

"  I  believe  I'll  go,"  said  Die.     "  That  is,  I'll  go  if  —  " 

"  If  Rita  will  let  you,  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  say," 
remarked  Billy.  "  We'll  name  the  new  firm  of  horse-buy 
ers  Sampson  and  Sampson ;  for  if  you  are  not  mindful  this 
gentle  young  Delilah  will  shear  you." 

"  I  promised  her  I  would  not  go.  I  cannot  break  my 
word.  If  she  will  release  me,  I  will  go,  and  will  thank  you 
with  all  my  heart.  Billy  Little,  you  have  done  so  much  for 
me  that  I  must  —  I  must  —  " 

"  There  you  go.  'Deed  if  I  don't  leave  you  if  you  keep 
it  up.  You  have  four  or  five  good  horses,  and  I'll  loan  you 
five  hundred  dollars  with  which  you  may  buy  a  dozen  or 
fifteen  more.  You  may  take  twenty  head  of  horses  on  your 
own  account,  and  should  make  by  the  trip  fifteen  hundred 
or  two  thousand  dollars,  including  your  wages.  Why,  Die, 
you  will  be  rich.  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  wealth  is  greater 
even  than  boldness  with  icy  dragonesses." 

"  Not  with  Rita." 

"  You  don't  need  help  of  any  sort  with  her,"  said  Billy. 
"  Poor  girl,  she  is  winged  for  all  time.  You  may  be  bold  or 


i44  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

humble,  rich  or  poor ;  it  will  be  all  one  to  her.  But  you 
want  to  get  her  without  a  fight.  You  don't  know  what  a 
fight  with  a  woman  like  the  Chief  Justice  means.  Carnage 
and  destruction  to  beat  Napoleon.  I  believe  if  you  had 
two  thousand  dollars  in  gold,  there  would  be  no  fight. 
Good  sinews  of  war  are  great  peace-makers." 

"  I  know  Rita  will  release  me  if  I  insist,"  said  Die. 

"I'm  sure  she  will,"  responded  his  friend. 

"I  will  go,"  cried  Die,  heroically  determined  to  break 
the  tender  shackles  of  Rita's  welding. 

"Now  you  are  a  man  again,"  said  Billy.  "You  may 
cause  her  to  cry  a  bit,  but  she'll  like  you  none  the  less  for 
that.  If  tears  caused  women  to  hate  men,  there  would  be 
a  sudden  stoppage  in  population."  Billy  sat  contempla 
tive  for  a  moment  with  his  finger  tips  together.  "  Men 
are  brutes"  —  another  pause  —  "but  they  salt  the  earth 
while  women  sweeten  it.  Personally,  I  would  rather 
sweeten  the  earth  than  salt  it;  but  a  sweet  man  is  like 
a  pokeberry  —  sugarish,  nauseating  and  unhealthful.  My 
love  for  sweetness  has  made  me  a  failure." 

"  You  are  not  a  failure,  Billy  Little.  You  are  certainly 
of  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  insisted  Die. 

"  A  man  fails  when  he  does  not  utilize  his  capabilities 
to  their  limit,"  said  Billy,  philosophically.  "  He  is  a  suc 
cess  when  he  accomplishes  all  he  can.  The  measure  of 
the  individual  is  the  measure  of  what  should  constitute  his 
success.  His  capabilities  may  be  small  or  great;  if  he 
but  use  them  all,  he  is  a  success.  A  fishing  worm  may  be 
a  great  success  as  a  fishing  worm,  but  a  total  failure  as 
a  mule.  Bless  me,  what  a  sermon  I  have  preached  about 
nothing.  I  fear  I  am  growing  garrulous,"  and  Billy  looked 
into  the  fire  and  hummed  Maxwelton's  braes. 

That  evening  Die  went  to  call  on  Rita  and  made  no 
pretence  of  wishing  to  see  Tom.  That  worthy  young  man 
had  served  his  purpose,  and  could  never  again  be  a  factor 


THE    TRIAL  145 

in  Die's  life  or  courtship.  Mrs.  Bays  received  Die  coldly ; 
but  Mr.  Bays,  in  a  half-timid  manner,  was  very  cordial. 
Die  paid  no  heed  to  the  coldness,  and,  after  talking  on  the 
porch  with  the  family  for  a  few  minutes,  boldly  asked  Rita 
to  walk  across  the  yard  to  the  log  by  the  river.  Rita  gave 
her  mother  a  frightened  glance  and  hurried  away  with  Die 
before  Justice  could  assert  itself,  and  the  happy  pair  sought 
the  beloved  sycamore  divan  by  the  river  bank. 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  my  happiness,"  began  Rita,  "  I'm 
very  unhappy  because  I,  in  place  of  Patsy  Clark,  did  not 
liberate  you.  I  always  intended  to  tell  the  truth.  You 
must  have  known  that  I  would." 

"  I  never  even  hoped  that  you  would  not.  I  knew  that 
when  the  time  should  come  you  would  not  obey  me,"  re 
turned  Die. 

"  In  all  else,  Die,  in  all  else."  There  was  the  sweet, 
all-conquering  humility  of  which  Billy  had  spoken. 

"  In  all  else,  Rita  ?     Do  you  mean  what  you  say  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  will  put  you  to  the  test  at  once.  For  your  sake  and 
my  own  I  should  go  with  Sampson  to  New  York,  and  I 
want  you  to  release  me  from  my  promise.  I  would  not 
ask  you  did  I  not  feel  that  it  is  an  opportunity  such  as  I 
may  never  have  again.  It  is  now  July ;  I  shall  be  back 
by  the  middle  of  November,  and  then,  Rita,  you  will  go 
home  with  me,  won't  you  ? "  For  ansvsr  the  girl  gently 
put  her  hand  in  his.  "  And  you  will  release  me  from  my 
promise  ? " 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  after  a  short  silence  added : 
"  I  fear  I  have  no  will  of  my  own.  I  borrow  all  from  you. 
I  cannot  say  '  no '  when  you  wish  '  yes ' ;  I  cannot  say 
'yes'  when  you  wish  'no.'  I  fear  you  will  despise  me,  I 
am  so  cheap ;  but  I  am  as  I  am,  and  it  is  your  fault  that 
I  have  so  many  faults.  You  have  made  me  what  I  am. 
Will  it  not  be  wonderful,  Die,  if  I,  who  clung  to  your  finger 


146  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

in  my  babyhood,  should  be  led  by  your  hand  from  my 
cradle  to  —  to  my  grave  ?  I  have  never  in  all  my  life'  Die, 
known  any  real  help  but  yours  —  and  some  from  Billy 
Little.  So  you  see  my  dependence  upon  you  is  excusable, 
and  you  cannot  think  less  of  me  because  I  am  so  weak." 
She  looked  up  to  him  with  a  tearful  smile  in  which  the 
past  and  the  future  contributed  each  its  touch  of  sadness. 

"  Rita,  come  to  the  house  this  instant!"  called  Mrs.  Bays 
(to  Die  her  voice  sounded  like  a  broken  string  in  Billy 
Little's  piano). 

Die  and  Rita  went  to  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Bays,  point 
ing  majestically  to  a  chair,  said  to  her  daughter :  — 

"  Now,  you  sit  there,  and  if  you  move,  off  to  bed  you 
go."  The  threat  was  all-sufficient. 

Die  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  porch  thinking  of  St. 
George  and  the  dragon,  and  tried  to  work  his  courage  up 
to  the  point  of  attack.  He  talked  ramblingly  for  a  while 
to  Mr.  Bays ;  then,  believing  his  courage  in  proper  form, 
he  turned  to  that  gentleman's  better  nine-tenths  and  boldly 
began :  — 

"  I  want  Rita,  Mrs.  Bays.  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of 
her"'  (here  the  girl  under  discussion  flashed  a  luminous 
glance  of  flat  contradiction  at  the  speaker),  "  and  I  know 
I  am  asking  a  great  deal,  but  —  but  —  "  But  the  bold 
ness  had  evaporated  along  with  the  remainder  of  what  he 
had  to  say,  for  with  Die's  first  words  Justice  dropped  her 
knitting  to  her  lap,  took  off  her  glasses,  and  gazed  at  the 
unfortunate  malefactor  with  an  injured,  fixed,  and  icy 
stare.  Die  retired  in  disorder ;  but  he  soon  rallied  his 
forces  and  again  took  up  the  battle. 

"  I'm  going  to  New  York  in  a  few  days,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  not  be  home  till  November.  I  have  Rita's  promise. 
I  can,  if  I  must,  be  satisfied  with  that ;  but  I  should  like 
your  consent  before  I  go."  Brave  words,  those,  to  the 
dragoness  of  Justice.  But  she  did  not  even  look  at  the 


THE   TRIAL  147 

presumptuous  St.  George.  She  was,  as  Justice  should  be, 
blind.  Likewise  she  appeared  to  be  deaf. 

"  May  I  have  your  consent,  Mr.  Bays  ? "  asked  Die, 
after  a  long  pause,  turning  to  Rita's  father. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "yes,  Die,  I  will  be  glad — "  Jus 
tice  at  the  moment  recovered  sight  and  hearing,  and  gazed 
stonily  at  its  mate.  The  mate,  after  a  brief  pause,  con 
tinued  in  a  different  tone  :  — 

"  That  is,  I  don't  care.  You  and  mother  fix  it  between 
you.  I  don't  know  anything  about  such  matters."  Mr. 
Bays  leaned  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  ex 
amined  his  feet  as  if  he  had  just  discovered  them.  After 
a  close  scrutiny  he  continued  :  — 

"  Rita's  the  best  girl  that  ever  lived.  I  don't  care  where 
you  look,  there's  not  another  like  her  in  all  the  world.  She 
has  never  caused  me  a  moment  of  pain  —  "  Rita  moved 
her  chair  to  her  father's  side  and  took  his  hand  — "  she 
has  brought  me  nothing  but  happiness,  and  I  would  — " 
He  ceased  speaking,  and  no  one  has  ever  known  what  Mr. 
Bays  "would,"  for  at  that  interesting  point  in  his  remarks 
his  worthy  spouse  interrupted  him  — 

"  Nothing  brings  you  pain.  You  shirk  it  and  throw 
it  all  on  me.  Lord  knows  the  girl  has  brought  trouble 
enough  to  me.  I  have  toiled  and  worked  and  suffered  for 
her.  I  bear  the  burdens  of  this  house,  and  if  my  daughter 
is  better  than  other  girls,  —  I  don't  say  she  is,  and  I  don't 
say  she  isn't,  —  but  if  she  is  better  than  other  girls,  I  say 
it  is  because  I  have  done  my  duty  by  her." 

Truth  compels  me  to  admit  that  she  had  done  her  duty 
toward  the  girl  with  a  strenuous  sincerity  that  often 
amounted  to  cruelty,  but  in  the  main  she  had  done  her 
best  for  Rita. 

Die  had  unintentionally  turned  the  tide  of  battle  on  Mr. 
Bays,  and  that  worthy  sufferer,  long  used  to  the  anguish 
of  defeat,  and  dead  to  the  shame  of  cowardice,  rose  from 


148  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

his  chair  and  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  his  old-time  sanctuary, 
the  barn.  Die  did  not  retreat ;  single-handed  and  alone, 
he  took  lance  in  hand  and  renewed  the  attack  with  adroit 
thrusts  of  flattery  and  coaxing.  After  many  bouts  a  com 
promise  was  reached  and  an  armistice  declared  between 
the  belligerent  powers  until  Die  should  return  from  New 
York.  This  armistice  was  virtually  a  surrender  of  the 
Bays  forces,  so  that  evening  when  Die  started  home  Rita 
accompanied  him  to  the  gate  beneath  the  dark  shadow 
of  a  drooping  elm,  and  the  gate's  the  place  for  "  a'  that 
and  a'  that." 

Next  morning  bright  and  early  Die  went  to  town  to  see 
Sampson,  the  horse-dealer.  He  found  him  sitting  on  the 
inn  porch. 

"  Well,  you're  going  to  take  the  horses  for  me,  after 
all  ?  "  asked  that  worthy  descendant  of  one  of  the  tribes. 

"  Billy  Little  said  you  would  give  me  five  hundred  dol 
lars.  That  is  a  very  large  sum.  You  first  offered  me  only 
one  hundred." 

"Yes,"  returned  Sampson;  "I  had  a  talk  with  Little. 
Horses  are  in  great  demand  in  New  York,  and  I  want  an 
intelligent  man  who  can  hurry  the  drove  through  to  Harris- 
burg,  where  I'll  meet  them.  If  we  get  them  to  New  York 
in  advance  of  the  other  dealers,  we  should  make  a  profit 
of  one  hundred  dollars  a  head  on  every  good  horse.  You 
will  have  two  other  men  with  you,  but  I  will  put  you  in 
charge.  Don't  speak  of  the  five  hundred  dollars  you're  to 
have  ;  the  others  are  to  receive  only  fifty  dollars  each." 

The  truth  is,  Billy  had  contributed  four  hundred  dollars 
of  the  sum  Die  was  to  receive,  and  four  hundred  dollars 
was  one-tenth  of  all  Billy's'  worldly  goods. 

Die  completed  his  arrangements  with  Sampson,  which 
included  the  privilege  of  taking  twenty  horses  on  his  own 
account,  and  then,  as  usual,  went  to  see  Billy  Little. 

"Well,  Billy   Little,"    said    Die,  joyfully,   "I'm    going. 


THE    TRIAL  149 

I've  closed  with  Sampson.  He  gives  me  five  hundred 
dollars,  and  allows  me  to  take  twenty  horses  of  my  own. 
I  ought  to  get  fine  young  horses  at  twenty-five  dollars  a 
head." 

"Sure,"  answered  Billy,  "that  would  amount  to  —  how 
many  have  you  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  Four,"  answered  Die. 

"  Then  you'll  want  to  buy  sixteen  —  four  hundred  dollars. 
Here  is  the  money,"  and  he  handed  him  a  canvas  shot- 
bag  containing  the  gold. 

"  Now,  Billy  Little,"  said  Die,  "  I  want  to  give  you  my 
note  for  this  money,  bearing  the  highest  rate  of  interest." 

"All  right,"  responded  our  backwoods  usurer,  "I'll 
charge  you  twelve  per  cent.  I  do  love  a  good  interest. 
There  is  no  Antonio  about  me.  I'll  lend  no  money  gratis 
and  bring  down  the  rate  of  usance.  Not  I." 

The  note  signed,  Die  looked  upon  himself  as  an  impor 
tant  factor  in  the  commercial  world,  and  felt  his  obligation 
less  because  of  the  high  rate  of  interest  he  was  paying. 

The  young  man  at  once  began  looking  for  horses,  and 
within  three  days  had  purchased  sixteen  "  beauties,"  as 
Billy  Little  called  them,  which,  with  his  own,  made  up  the 
number  he  was  to  take.  His  adventurous  New  York  trip 
raised  him  greatly  in  the  estimation  of  Mrs.  Bays.  It 
brought  her  to  realize  that  he  was  a  man,  and  it  won,  in 
a  degree,  her  reluctant  respect.  The  ride  over  the  moun 
tains  through  rain  and  mud  and  countless  dangers  was  an 
adventure  worthy  to  inspire  respect.  The  return  would 
be  easier  than  the  eastward  journey.  Die  would  return 
from  New  York  to  Pittsburg  by  canal  boat  and  stage.  From 
Pittsburg,  if  the  river  should  be  open,  he  would  go  to 
Madison  by  the  Ohio  boats.  From  Madison  he  would 
come  north  to  Columbus  on  the  mail  stage,  and  at  Colum 
bus  he  would  be  within  twenty-five  miles  of  home. 

As  I  have  told  you,  Mrs.  Bays  grew  to  respect  Die ;  and 


i5o  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

being  willing  to  surrender,  save  for  the  shame  of  defeat, 
she  honestly  kept  the  terms  of  her  armistice.  Thus  Rita 
and  Die  enjoyed  the  sycamore  divan  by  the  river's  edge 
without  interference. 

On  the  night  before  his  departure  he  gave  Rita  the  ring, 
saying,  "  This  time  it  is  for  keeps." 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  the  girl,  with  a  touch  of  doubt  in 
her  hesitating  words. 

He  spoke  buoyantly  of  his  trip  and  of  the  great  things 
that  were  sure  to  come  out  of  it,  and  again  Rita  softly 
hoped  so ;  but  intimated  in  a  gentle,  complaining  tone  of 
voice  that  something  told  her  trouble  would  come  from 
the  expedition.  She  felt  that  she  was  being  treated  badly, 
though,  being  such  a  weak,  selfish,  unworthy  person,  —  so 
she  had  been  taught  by  her  mother  to  believe,  —  she  de 
served  nothing  better.  Die  laughed  at  her  fears,  and  told 
her  she  was  the  one  altogether  perfect  human  being.  Al 
though  by  insistence  he  brought  her  to  admit  that  he  was 
right  in  both  propositions,  he  failed  to  convince  her  in 
either,  and  she  spoke  little/  save  in  eloquent  sighs,  during 
the  remainder  of  the  evening. 

After  the  eventful  night  of  Scott's  social,  Rita's  sur 
render  of  self  had  grown  in  its  sweetness  hour  by  hour ; 
and  although  Die's  love  had  also  deepened,  as  his  con 
fidence  grew  apace  he  assumed  an  air  of  patronage  tow 
ard  the  girl  which  she  noticed,  but  which  she  considered 
quite  the  proper  thing  in  all  respects. 

There  was  no  abatement  of  his  affection  this  last  evening 
together,  but  she  was  sorry  to  see  him  so  joyful  at  leaving 
her.  Their  situation  was  simply  a  repetition  of  the  world 
wide  condition  :  the  man  with  many  motives  and  ambitions, 
the  woman  with  one  —  love. 

After  Die  had,  for  the  twentieth  time,  said  he  must  be 
going,  the  girl  whispered  :  — 

"  I  fear  you  will  carry  away  with  you  the  memory  of  a 


THE   TRIAL  151 

dull  evening,  but  I  could  not  talk,  I  could  not  Oh,  Die  — 
Thereupon  she  began  to  weep,  and  Die,  though  pained, 
found  a  certain  selfish  joy  in  comforting  her,  compared  to 
which  the  conversation  of  Madame  de  Stael  herself  would 
have  been  poor  and  commonplace.  Then  came  the  gate, 
a  sweet  face  wet  with  tears,  and  good-by  and  good-by  and 
good-by. 

Die  went  home  joyful.  Rita  went  to  her  room  weep 
ing.  It  pained  him  to  leave  her,  but  it  grieved  her  far 
more  deeply,  and  she  began  then  to  pay  the  penalty  of  her 
great  crime  in  being  a  woman. 

Do  not  from  the  foregoing  remark  conclude  that  Die 
was  selfish  in  his  lack  of  pain  at  parting  from  Rita.  He 
also  lacked  her  fears.  Did  the  fear  exist  in  her  and  not 
in  him  because  her  love  was  greater  or  because  she  was 
more  timid  ?  Had  her  abject  surrender  made  him  over 
confident  ?  When  a  woman  gives  as  Rita  did  she  should 
know  her  man,  else  she  is  in  danger.  If  he  happens  to 
be  a  great,  noble  soul,  she  makes  her  heaven  and  his  then 
and  there.  If  he  is  a  selfish  brute,  she  will  find  another 
place  of  which  we  all  stand  in  wholesome  dread. 


A    CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG 


CHAPTER   VIII 
A  CHRISTMAS  HEARTH  LOG 

ON  the   morning   of    Die's   departure,    Billy   Little 
advised  him  to  invest  the  proceeds  of  his  expedi 
tion  in  goods  at  New  York,  and  to  ship  them  to 
Madison. 

"You  see,"  said  Billy,  "you  will  make  your  profit  going 
and  coming,  and  you  will  have  a  nice  lump  of  gold  when 
you  return.  Gold  means  Rita,  and  Rita  means  happiness 
and  ploughing." 

"  Not  ploughing,  Billy  Little,"  interrupted  Die. 

"  We'll  see  what  we  will  see,"  replied  Billy.  "  Here  is  a 
list  of  goods  I  advise  you  to  buy,  and  the  name  of  a  man 
who  will  sell  them  to  you  at  proper  prices.  You  can  trust 
him.  He  wouldn't  cheat  even  a  friend.  Good-by,  Die. 
Write  to  me.  Of  course  you  will  write  to  Rita  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  shall,"  replied  Die  in  a  tone  expressive  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  fine,  true  fellow,  and  would  perform 
that  pleasant  duty  with  satisfaction  to  himself  and  great 
happiness  to  the  girl.  You  see,  Die's  great  New  York 
journey  had  caused  him  to  feel  his  importance  a  bit. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  up  to  see  her  very  often,"  con 
tinued  our  confident  young  friend ;  "  if  I  do  say  it  myself, 
she  will  miss  me  greatly.  When  I  return,  she  shall  go 
home  with  me.  Mrs.  Bays  has  almost  given  her  consent. 
You  will  go  often,  won't  you,  Billy  Little  ?  Next  to  me, 
I  believe  she  loves  you  best  of  all  the  world." 

Billy  watched  Die  ride  eastward  on  the  Michigan  road, 
and  muttered  to  himself  :  — 

'55 


156  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

" « Next  to  me ' ;  there  is  no  next,  you  young  fool."  Then 
he  went  in  to  his  piano  and  caressed  the  keys  till  they 
yielded  their  ineffable  sweetness  in  the  half-sad  tones  of 
Handel's  "  Messiah  "  ;  afterward,  to  lift  his  spirits,  they  gave 
him  a  glittering  sonata  from  Mozart.  But  it  is  better  to 
feel  than  to  think.  It  is  sweeter  to  weep  than  to  laugh. 
So  when  he  was  tired  of  the  classics,  he  played  over  and 
over  again,  in  weird,  minor,  improvised  variations,  his  love 
of  loves,  "  Annie  Laurie,"  and  tears  came  to  his  eyes  be 
cause  he  was  both  happy  and  sad.  The  keys  seemed  to 
whisper  to  him,  so  gently  did  he  touch  them,  and  their 
tones  fell,  not  upon  his  ears,  but  upon  his  heart,  with  a 
soothing  pathos  like  the  sough  of  an  old  song  or  a  sweet, 
forgotten  odor  of  a  day  that  is  past. 

Billy  did  his  best  to  console  Rita,  though  it  was  a  hope 
less  task  and  full  of  peril  for  him.  There  was  but  one  topic 
of  interest  to  her.  Rome  and  Greece  were  dull.  What 
cared  she  about  the  Romans  ?  Die  was  not  a  Roman. 
Conversation  upon  books  wearied  her,  and  subjects  that  a 
few  months  ago  held  her  rapt  attention,  now  threw  her  into 
revery.  I  am  sorry  to  say  she  was  a  silly,  love-lorn  young 
woman,  and  not  in  the  least  entitled  to  the  respect  of  strong- 
minded  persons.  I  would  not  advise  you,  my  dear  young 
girl,  to  assume  Rita's  faults ;  but  if  you  should  do  so,  many 
a  good,  though  misguided  man  will  mistake  them  for 
virtues  and  will  fall  at  your  feet.  You  will  not  deceive 
your  sisters ;  but  you  won't  care  much  for  their  opinion. 

Soon  after  Die's  departure,  Jim  Fisher,  Mrs.  Bays's 
brother,  renewed  his  offer  to  take  Mr.  Bays  as  a  partner  in 
the  Indianapolis  store.  The  offer  was  a  good  one  and  was 
honestly  made.  Fisher  needed  more  capital,  and  to  that 
extent  his  motive  was  selfish ;  but  the  business  was  pros 
perous,  and  he  could  easily  have  found  a  partner. 

One  Saturday  evening  he  came  up  to  talk  over  the  mat- 


A    CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG          157 

ter  with  his  brother-in-law.  He  took  with  him  to  Blue  no 
less  a  person  than  Roger  Williams  —  not  the  original,  re 
doubtable  Roger  who  discovered  Rhode  Island,  but  a  de 
scendant  of  his  family.  Williams  was  a  man  of  twenty-five. 
Boston  was  his  home,  and  he  was  the  son  of  a  father 
Williams  who  manufactured  ploughs,  spades,  wagons,  and 
other  agricultural  implements.  The  young  man  was  his 
father's  western  representative,  and  Fisher  sold  his  goods 
in  the  Indianapolis  district.  He  dressed  well  and  was  affable 
with  his  homespun  friends.  In  truth,  he  was  a  gentleman. 
He  made  himself  at  home  in  the  cabin  ;  but  he  had  brains 
enough  to  respect  and  not  to  patronize  the  good  people 
who  dwelt  therein. 

Of  course  it  will  be  useless  for  me  to  pretend  that  this 
young  fellow  did  not  fall  in  love  with  Rita.  If  I  had 
been  responsible  for  his  going  to  Blue,  you  would  be 
justified  in  saying  that  I  brought  him  there  for  the  pur 
pose  of  furnishing  a  rival  to  Die;  but  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  his  going  or  loving,  and  take  this  opportunity  to 
proclaim  my  innocence  of  all  such  responsibility.  He  came, 
he  stayed  till  Tuesday,  and  was  conquered.  He  came 
again  two  weeks  later,  and  again,  and  still  again.  He  saw, 
but  did  he  conquer  ?  That  is  the  great  question  this  history 
is  to  answer.  Meantime  Die  was  leading  a  drove  of  un 
tamed  horses  all  day  long,  and  was  sleeping  sometimes  at 
a  wretched  inn,  sometimes  in  the  pitiless  storm,  and  some 
times  he  was  chasing  stampeded  horses  for  forty-eight  hours 
at  a  stretch  without  sleeping  or  eating.  But  when  awake 
he  thought  of  Rita,  and  when  he  slept  he  dreamed  of  her, 
though  in  his  dreams  there  was  no  handsome  city  man,  pos 
sessed  of  a  fine  house,  servants,  and  carriages,  sitting  by  her 
side.  Had  that  fact  been  revealed  to  him  in  a  dream,  the 
horses  might  have  stampeded  to  Jericho  for  all  he  would 
have  cared,  and  he  would  have  stampeded  home  to  look 
after  more  important  interests. 


158  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

But  to  return  to  Fisher's  visits.  After  supper,  Saturday 
evening,  the  question  of  the  new  store  came  up. 

Fisher  said :  "  If  you  can  raise  three  thousand  dollars, 
Tom,  you  may  have  a  half-interest  in  the  business.  I  have 
three  thousand  dollars  now  invested,  and  have  credit  for  an 
additional  three  thousand  with  Mr.  Williams.  If  we  had 
six  thousand  dollars,  we  may  have  credit  for  six  thousand 
more,  twelve  thousand  in  all,  and  we  can  easily  turn  our 
stock  twice  a  year.  Tom,  it's  the  chance  of  your  life. 
Don't  you  think  it  is,  Margarita?" 

"  It  looks  that  way,  Jim,"  said  Mrs.  Bays ;  "  but  we 
haven't  the  three  thousand  dollars,  and  we  must  think  it 
over  carefully  and  prayerfully." 

"  Can't  you  sell  the  farm  or  mortgage  it  ? "  suggested 
Fisher.  Tom,  Jr.,  gazed  intently  into  the  tree-tops,  and, 
in  so  doing,  led  the  others  to  ask  what  he  was  seeking. 
There  was  nothing  unusual  to  be  seen  among  the  trees, 
and  Mrs.  Bays  inquired  :  — 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  looking  for,  Tom  ? " 

"  I  was  looking  to  see  if  there  was  anybody  roosting  up 
there,  waiting  to  buy  this  half-cleared  old  stump  field." 

"  Tom's  right,"  said  his  father.  "  I  fear  a  purchaser 
will  be  hard  to  find,  and  I  don't  know  any  one  who  would 
loan  me  three  thousand  dollars.  If  we  can  find  the  money, 
we'll  try  it.  What  do  you  say,  Margarita  ? "  Mrs.  Bays 
was  still  inclined  to  be  careful  and  prayerful. 

Since  Rita  had  expressed  to  Billy  Little  her  desire  to 
remove  to  Indianapolis  (on  the  day  she  bought  the  writing 
paper,  which,  by  the  way,  she  had  never  paid  for)  so  vast 
a  change  had  taken  place  within  herself  that  she  had 
changed  her  way  of  seeing  nearly  everything  outside. 
Especially  had  she  changed  the  point  of  view  from  which 
she  saw  the  Indianapolis  project,  and  she  was  now  quite 
content  to  grow  up  "  a  ragweed  or  a  mullein  stalk,"  if  she 
could  grow  in  Die's  fields,  and  be  cared  for  by  his  hand. 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH   LOG         159 

I  believe  that  when  a  woman  loves  a  strong  man  and  con 
templates  marriage  with  him,  as  she  is  apt  to  do,  a  com 
forting  sense  of  his  protecting  care  is  no  small  part  of  her 
emotions.  She  may  not  consider  the  matter  of  her  daily 
bread  and  raiment,  but  she  feels  that  in  the  harbor  of  his 
love  she  will  be  safe  from  the  manifold  storms  and  harms 
that  would  otherwise  beset  her. 

Owing  to  Rita's  great  change  the  conversation  on  the 
porch  was  fraught  with  a  terrible  interest.  While  the 
others  talked,  she,  as  in  duty  bound,  —  girls  were  to  be 
seen  and  not  heard  in  those  days,  —  remained  silent.  For 
tunately  the  fact  that  she  was  a  girl  did  not  preclude  think 
ing.  That  she  did  plenteously,  and  all  lines  of  thought  led 
to  the  same  question,  "  How  will  it  affect  Die  ? "  She 
could  come  to  no  conclusion.  Many  times  she  longed  to 
speak,  but  dared  not;  so  she  shut  her  lips  and  her  mind 
and  determined  to  postpone  discussing  the  question  with 
herself  till  she  should  be  in  bed  where  she  could  think 
quietly.  Meanwhile  Williams  seated  himself  beside  her 
on  the  edge  of  the  porch  and  rejoiced  over  this  beautiful 
rose  he  had  found  in  the  wilderness.  She  being  a  simple 
country  flower,  he  hoped  to  enjoy  her  fragrance  for  a  time 
without  much  trouble  in  the  plucking,  and  it  looked  as 
though  his  task  would  be  an  easy  one.  At  first  the  girl 
was  somewhat  frightened  at  his  grandeur;  but  his  easy, 
chatty  conversation  soon  dispelled  her  shyness,  and  she 
found  him  entertaining.  He  at  first  sight  was  charmed 
by  her  beauty.  He  quickly  discovered  that  her  nose, 
chin,  lips,  forehead,  and  complexion  were  faultless,  and 
as  for  those  wonderful  eyes,  he  could  hardly  draw  his  own 
away  from  them,  even  for  a  moment.  But  after  he  had 
talked  with  her  he  was  still  more  surprised  to  find  her  not 
only  bright,  but  educated,  in  a  rambling  way,  to  a  degree 
little  expected  in  a  frontier  girl. 

Williams  was  a  Harvard  man,  and  when  he  discovered 


160  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

that  the  girl  by  his  side  could  talk  on  subjects  other  than 
bucolic,  and  that  she  could  furthermore  listen  to  him  intel 
ligently,  he  branched  into  literature,  art,  travel,  and  kin 
dred  topics.  She  enjoyed  hearing  him  talk,  and  delighted 
him  now  and  then  with  an  apt  reply.  So  much  did  her 
voice  charm  him  that  he  soon  preferred  it  even  to  his  own, 
and  he  found  himself  concluding  that  this  was  not  a  wild 
forest  rose  at  all,  but  a  beautiful  domestic  flower,  worthy 
of  care  in  the  plucking.  They  had  several  little  tilts  in 
the  best  of  humor  that  confirmed  Williams  in  the  growing 
opinion  that  the  girl's  beauty  and  strength  were  not  all 
physical.  He  talked  much  about  Boston  and  its  culture, 
and  spoke  patronizingly  of  that  unfortunate  portion  of  the 
world's  people  who  did  not  enjoy  the  advantage  of  living 
within  the  sacred  walls.  Although  Rita  knew  that  his 
boast  was  not  all  vain,  and  that  his  city  deserved  its 
reputation,  she  laughed  softly  and  said  in  apparent  seri 
ousness  :  — 

"  It  is  almost  an  education  even  to  meet  a  person  from 
Boston." 

Williams  looked  up  in  surprise.  He  had  not  suspected 
that  sarcasm  could  lurk  behind  those  wonderful  eyes, 
but  he  was  undeceived  by  her  remark,  and  answered 
laughingly :  — 

"That  is  true,  Miss  Bays." 

"  Boston  has  much  to  be  proud  of,"  continued  the  girl, 
surprised  and  somewhat  frightened  at  the  rate  she  was 
bowling  along.  She  had  never  before  talked  so  freely  to 
any  one  but  Billy  Little  and  Die.  "Yes,  all  good  comes 
out  of  Boston.  I've  been  told  that  if  you  hear  her  church 
bells  toll,  your  soul  is  saved.  There  is  a  saving  grace 
in  their  very  tones.  It  came  over  in  the  Mayflower,  as 
you  might  transport  yeast.  If  you  walk  through  Harvard, 
you  will  be  wise ;  if  you  stand  on  Bunker  Hill,  treason 
flees  your  soul  forever;  and  if  you  once  gaze  upon  the 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG         161 

Common,  you  are  safe  from  the  heresy  of  the  Quaker  and 
the  sin  of  witchcraft." 

"  I  fear  you  are  making  a  jest  of  Boston,  Miss  Bays," 
replied  Williams,  who  shared  the  sensitiveness  peculiar  to 
his  people. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "I  jest  only  at  your  boasting.  Your 
city  is  all  you  claim  for  it;  but  great  virtue  needs  no 
herald." 

Williams  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  Have  you  ever  been  in  Boston  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Indeed,  no,"  she  answered  laughingly.  "  I've 
never  been  any  place  but  to  church  and  once  to  a  Fourth 
of  July  picnic.  I  was  once  at  a  church  social,  but  it  brought 
me  into  great  trouble  and  I  shall  never  go  to  another." 
Williams  was  amused  and  again  remained,  for  a  time,  in 
silent  meditation.  She  did  not  interrupt  him,  and  at  length 
he  spoke  stammeringly  :  — 

"Pardon  me  —  where  did  you  learn  —  how  comes  it  — 
I  am  speaking  abruptly,  but  one  would  suppose  you  had 
travelled  and  enjoyed  many  advantages  that  you  certainly 
could  not  have  here." 

"  You  greatly  overestimate  me,  Mr.  Williams.  I  have 
only  a  poor  smattering  of  knowledge  which  I  absorbed  from 
two  friends  who  are  really  educated  men,  —  Mr.  Little  and 
Die— Mr.  Bright!" 

"  Are  they  old  —  elderly  men  ?  "  asked  Williams. 

"  One  is,"  responded  Rita. 

"Which  one  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Little." 

"And  the  other — Mr.  Bright  —  is  he  young?"  asked 
the  inquisitive  Bostonian.  There  was  no  need  for  Rita  to 
answer  in  words.  The  color  in  her  cheeks  and  the  radiance 
of  her  eyes  told  plainly  enough  that  Mr.  Bright  was  young. 
But  she  replied  with  a  poor  assumption  of  indifference :  — 

"I  think  he  is  nearly  five  years  older  than  I."     There 


162  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

was  another  betrayal  of  an  interesting  fact.  She  measured 
his  age  by  hers. 

"And  that  would  make  him  —  ?"  queried  Williams. 

"  Twenty-two  —  nearly." 

"  Are  you  but  seventeen  ? "  he  asked.  Rita  nodded  her 
head  and  answered  :  — 

"Shamefully  young,  isn't  it?  I  used  to  be  sensitive 
about  my  extreme  youth  and  am  still  a  little  so,  but  —  but 
it  can't  be  helped."  Williams  laughed,  and  thought  he  had 
never  met  so  charming  a  girl. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  more  or  less  a  disgrace  to  be 
so  young,  but  it  is  a  fault  easily  overlooked."  He  paused 
for  a  moment  while  he  inspected  the  heavens,  and  con 
tinued,  still  studying  astronomy :  "  I  mean  it  is  not  easily 
overlooked  in  some  cases.  Sometimes  it  is  'a  monster  of 
such  awful  mien'  that  one  wishes  to  jump  clear  over  the 
enduring  and  the  pitying,  and  longs  to  embrace." 

"  We  often  see  beautiful  sunsets  from  this  porch,"  an 
swered  Rita,  "and  I  believe  one  is  forming  now."  There 
was  not  a  society  lady  in  Boston  who  could  have  handled 
the  situation  more  skilfully;  and  Williams  learned  that 
if  he  would  flatter  this  young  girl  of  the  wilderness,  he 
must  first  serve  his  probation.  She  did  not  desire  his 
flattery,  and  gave  him  to  understand  as  much  at  the  outset. 
She  found  him  interesting  and  admired  him.  He  was  the 
first  man  of  his  type  she  had  ever  met.  In  the  matter  of 
education  he  was  probably  not  far  in  advance  of  Die,  and 
certainly  was  very  far  arrear  of  Billy  Little.  But  he  had  a 
certain  polish  which  comes  only  from  city  life.  Billy  had 
that  polish,  but  it  was  of  the  last  generation,  was  very 
English,  and  had  been  somewhat  dimmed  by  friction  with 
the  unpolished  surfaces  about  him.  Die's  polish  was  that 
of  a  rare  natural  wood. 

As  a  result  of  these  conditions,  Rita  and  Williams  walked 
up  the  river  on  the  following  afternoon  —  Sunday.  More 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG         163 

by  accident  than  design  they  halted  at  the  step-off  and 
rested  upon  the  same  rocky  knoll  where  she  and  Die  were 
sitting  when  Doug  Hill  hailed  them  from  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river.  The  scene  was  crowded  with  memories, 
and  the  girl's  heart  was  soon  filled  with  Die,  while  her 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  events  of  that  terrible  day. 
Nothing  that  Williams  might  say  could  interest  her,  and 
while  he  talked  she  listened  but  did  not  hear,  for  her  mind 
was  far  away,  and  she  longed  to  be  alone. 

One  would  suppose  that  the  memory  of  the  day  she  shot 
Doug  Hill  would  have  been  filled  with  horror  for  her,  but 
it  was  not.  This  gentle  girl,  who  would  not  willingly  have 
killed  a  worm,  and  to  whom  the  sight  of  suffering  brought 
excruciating  pain,  had  not  experienced  a  pang  of  regret 
because  of  the  part  she  had  been  called  upon  to  play  in 
the  tragedy  of  the  step-off.  When  Doug  was  lying  be 
tween  life  and  death,  she  hoped  he  would  recover ;  but  no 
small  part  of  her  interest  in  the  result  was  because  of  its 
effect  upon  Die  and  herself.  Billy  Little  had  once  ex 
pressed  surprise  at  this  callousness,  but  she  replied  with 
a  touch  of  warmth :  — 

"  I  did  right,  Billy  Little.  Even  mother  admits  that.  I 
saved  Die's  life  and  my  own  honor.  I  would  do  it  again. 
I  am  sorry  I  had  it  to  do,  but  I  am  glad,  oh  so  glad,  that 
I  had  strength  to  do  it.  God  helped  me,  or  I  could  never 
have  fired  the  shot.  You  may  laugh,  Billy  Little  —  I 
know  your  philosophy  leads  you  to  believe  that  God  never 
does  things  of  that  sort  —  but  I  know  better.  You  know 
a  great  deal  more  than  I  about  everything  else,  but  in  this 
instance  I  am  wiser  than  you.  I  know  God  gave  me 
strength  at  the  moment  when  I  most  needed  it.  That 
moment  taught  me  a  lesson  that  some  persons  never  learn. 
It  taught  me  that  God  will  always  give  me  strength  at  the 
last  moment  of  my  need,  if  I  ask  it  of  Him,  as  I  asked 
that  day." 


164  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  He  gave  it  to  you  when  you  were  born,  Rita,"  said 
Billy. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I  am  weak  as  a  kitten,  and  always 
shall  be,  unless  I  get  my  strength  from  Him." 

"  Well,"  said  Billy,  meaning  no  irreverence,  "  if  He 
would  not  give  to  you,  He  would  not  give  to  any  one." 

"Ah,  Billy  Little,"  said  the  girl,  pleased  by  the  compli 
ment  —  you  see  her  pleasure  in  a  compliment  depended  on 
the  maker  of  it  —  "  you  think  every  one  admires  me  as 
much  as  you  do."  Billy  knew  that  was  impossible,  but 
for  obvious  reasons  did  not  explain  the  true  situation. 

Other  small  matters  served  to  neutralize  the  horror 
Rita  might  otherwise  have  felt.  The  affair  at  the  step-off 
had  been  freely  talked  about  by  her  friends  in  her  pres 
ence,  and  the  thought  of  it  had  soon  become  familiar  to 
her ;  but  the  best  cure  was  her  meeting  with  Doug  Hill 
a  fortnight  after  the  trial.  It  occurred  on  the  square  in 
the  town  of  Blue  River.  She  saw  Doug  coming  toward 
her,  and  was  so  shaken  by  emotions  that  she  feared  she 
could  not  stand,  but  she  recovered  herself  when  he  said  in 
his  bluff  manner :  — 

"  Rita,  I  don't  want  to  have  no  more  fights  with  you. 
You're  too  quick  on  trigger  for  Doug.  But  I  want  to  tell 
you  I  don't  hold  no  grudge  agin'  you.  You  did  jes'  right. 
You  orter  a-killed  me,  but  I'm  mighty  glad  you  didn't. 
That  shot  of  your'n  was  the  best  sermon  I  ever  had 
preached  to  me.  I  hain't  tasted  a  drap  of  liquor  since  that 
day,  and  I  never  will.  I'm  goin'  to  start  to  Illinoy  to 
morrow,  and  I'm  goin'  to  get  married  and  be  a  man. 
Better  marry  me,  Rita,  and  go  along." 

"I'm  sure  you  will  be  a  man,  Doug,"  responded  Rita. 
"I  don't  believe  I  want  to  get  married,  but  —  but  will  you 
shake  hands  with  me  ?  " 

"  Bet  I  will,  Rita.  Mighty  glad  to.  You've  the  best  pluck 
of  any  girl  on  yarth,  with  all  you're  so  mild  and  kitten-like, 


A    CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG         165 

and  the  purtiest  girl,  too  —  yes,  by  gee,  the  purtiest  girl  in 
all  the  world.  Everybody  says  so,  Rita."  Rita  blushed, 
and  began  to  move  away  from  his  honest  flattery,  so  Doug 
said  :  — 

"Well,  good-by.  Tell  Die  good-by,  and  tell  him  I 
don't  hold  no  grudge  agin'  him  neither.  Hope  he  don't 
agin'  me.  He  ortent  to.  He's  got  lots  the  best  of  it —  he 
won  the  fight  and  got  you.  Gee,  I'd  'a'  been  glad  to  lose 
the  fight  if  I  could  'a'  got  you." 

Thus  it  happened  that  these  two,  who  had  last  met  with 
death  between  them,  parted  as  friends.  Doug  started  for 
Illinois  next  day  ;  and  now  he  drops  out  of  this  history. 

I  have  spoken  thus  concerning  Rita's  feeling  about  the 
shooting  of  Doug  Hill  to  show  you  how  easy  it  was  for  her, 
while  sitting  beside  Williams  that  placid  Sunday  afternoon, 
to  break  in  upon  his  interesting  conversation  with  the 
irrelevant  remark :  — 

"  I  once  shot  a  man  near  this  spot." 

For  a  moment  or  two  one  might  have  supposed  she  had 
just  shot  Williams.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  as  if  he  intended 
to  run  from  her,  but  at  once  resumed  his  place,  saying :  — 

"  Miss  Bays,  your  humor  always  surprises  me.  It  takes 
me  unawares.  Of  course  you  are  jesting." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not.  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  You 
will  hear  it  sooner  or  later  if  you  remain  on  Blue.  It  is 
the  one  great  piece  of  neighborhood  history  since  the 
Indians  left.  It  is  nothing  to  boast  of.  I  simply  state  it 
as  a  fact,  —  a  lamentable  fact,  I  suppose  I  should  say. 
But  I  don't  feel  that  way  about  it  at  all." 

"  Did  you  kill  him  ? "  asked  the  astonished  Bostonian. 

"No,  I'm  glad  to  say  he  lived;  but  that  was  not  my 
fault.  I  tried  to  kill  him.  He  now  lives  in  Illinois." 

Williams  looked  at  her  doubtingly,  and  still  feared  she 
was  hoaxing  him.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe 
there  dwelt  within  the  breast  of  the  gentle  girl  beside  him 


166  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

a  spirit  that  would  give  her  strength  to  do  such  a  deed 
under  any  conditions.  Never  had  he  met  a  woman  in 
whom  the  adorable  feminine  weaknesses  were  more  pro 
nounced.  She  was  a  coward.  He  had  seen  her  run, 
screaming  in  genuine  fright,  from  a  ground  squirrel.  She 
was  meek  and  unresisting,  to  the  point  of  weakness.  He 
had  seen  her  endure  unprovoked  anger  and  undeserved 
rebuke  from  her  mother,  and  intolerable  slights  from  Tom, 
that  would  surely  have  aroused  retaliation  had  there  been 
a  spark  of  combativeness  in  her  gentle  heart.  That  she 
was  tender  and  loving  could  be  seen  in  every  glance  of 
her  eyes,  in  every  feature  of  her  face,  in  every  tone  of  her 
soft,  musical  voice.  Surely,  thought  Williams,  the  girl 
could  not  kill  a  mouse.  Where,  then,  would  she  find 
strength  to  kill  a  man  ?  But  she  told  him,  in  meagre  out 
line,  her  story,  and  he  learned  that  a  great,  self-controlled, 
modest  strength  nestled  side  by  side  with  ineffable  gentle 
ness  in  the  heart  of  this  young  girl ;  and  that  was  the 
moment  of  Roger  Williams's  undoing,  and  the  beginning 
of  Rita's  woe.  Prior  to  that  moment  he  had  believed  him 
self  her  superior ;  but,  much  to  his  surprise,  he  found  that 
Roger  occupied  second  place  in  his  own  esteem,  while  a 
simple  country  girl,  who  had  never  been  anywhere  but  to 
church,  a.  Fourth  of  July  picnic,  and  one  church  social, 
with  his  full  consent  quietly  occupied  first.  This  girl,  he 
discovered,  was  a  living  example  of  what  unassisted  nature 
can  do  when  she  tries.  All  this  change  in  Williams  had 
been  wrought  in  an  instant  when  he  learned  that  the  girl 
had  shot  a  man.  She  was  the  only  woman  of  his  acquaint 
ance  who  could  boast  that  distinction. 

What  was  the  mental  or  moral  process  that  had  led  him 
to  his  conclusions  ?  We  all  know  there  is  a  fascination 
about  those  who  have  lived  through  a  moment  of  terrible 
ordeal  and  have  been  equal  to  its  demands.  But  do  we 
know  by  what  process  their  force  operates  upon  us  ?  We 


A   CHRISTMAS   HEARTH   LOG         167 

are  fascinated  by  a  noted  duellist  who  has  killed  his  score 
of  men.  We  are  drawn  by  a  certain  charm  that  lurks  in 
his  iron  nerve  and  gleams  from  his  cold  eyes.  The  torea 
dor  has  his  way  with  the  Spanish  dons  and  senoritas  alike. 
The  high-rope  dancer  and  the  trapeze  girl  attract  us  by  a 
subtle  spell.  Is  it  an  unlabelled  force  in  nature  ?  I  can 
but  ask  the  question.  I  do  not  pretend  to  answer. 

Whatever  the  force  may  be,  Rita  possessed  it ;  and,  linked 
with  her  gentleness  and  beauty,  its  charm  was  irresistible. 

Here,  at  last,  was  the  rich  man  from  the  city  who  could 
give  Rita  the  fine  mansion,  carriages,  and  servants  she 
deserved.  Now  that  these  great  benefactions  were  at  her 
feet,  would  Die  be  as  generous  as  when  he  told  Billy  Little 
that  Rita  was  not  for  him,  but  for  one  who  could  give  her 
these  ?  Would  he  unselfishly  forego  his  claim  to  make  her 
great,  and  perhaps  happy  ?  Great  love  in  a  great  heart  has 
often  done  as  much,  permitting  the  world  to  know  nothing 
of  the  sacrifice.  I  have  known  a  case  where  even  the 
supposed  beneficiary  was  in  ignorance  of  the  real  motive. 
Perhaps  Billy  Little  could  have  given  us  light  upon  a 
similar  question,  and  perhaps  the  beneficiary  did  not  bene 
fit  by  the  mistaken  generosity,  save  in  the  poor  matter  of 
gold  and  worldly  eminence ;  and  perhaps  it  brought  years 
of  dull  heartache  to  both  beneficiary  and  benefactor,  to 
gether  with  hours  of  longing  and  conscience-born  shame 
upon  two  sinless  hearts. 

After  Rita  had  told  her  story,  Roger's  chatty  style  of 
conversation  suddenly  ceased.  He  made  greater  efforts 
to  please  than  before,  but  the  effort  seemed  to  impair  his 
power  of  pleasing.  Rita,  longing  to  be  alone,  had  resolved 
many  times  to  return  to  the  house,  but  before  acting  upon 
that  resolve  she  heard  a  voice  calling,  "  Rita !  "  and  a 
moment  afterward  a  pair  of  bright  blue  eyes,  a  dimpled 
rosy  face,  and  a  plump  little  form  constructed  upon  the 
partridge  model  came  in  sight  and  suddenly  halted. 


i68  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"Oh,  excuse  me,"  said  our  little  wood-nymph  friend, 
Sukey  Yates.  "  I  did  not  know  I  was  intruding.  Your 
mother  said  you  had  come  in  this  direction,  and  I  followed." 

"You  are  not  intruding,"  replied  Rita.  "Come  and  sit 
by  me.  Mr.  Williams,  Miss  Yates." 

Miss  Yates  bowed  and  blushed,  stammered  a  word  or 
two,  and  sat  by  Rita  on  the  rocky  bench.  She  was  silent 
and  shy  for  a  moment,  but  Williams  easily  loosened  her 
tongue  and  she  went  off  like  a  magpie.  Billy  used  to  say 
that  Sukey  was  the  modern  incarnation  of  the  ancient  and 
immortal  "  Chatterbox." 

After  Sukey's  arrival,  Rita  could  be  alone,  and  an  hour 
passed  before  she  returned  to  the  house. 

That  evening  Billy  -Little  took  supper  with  Mrs.  Bays, 
and  Rita,  considering  Williams  her  father's  guest,  spent 
most  of  the  evening  on  the  sycamore  log  with  the  bachelor 
heart. 

"  Die  gave  me  the  ring  again,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand  for  inspection.  Billy  took  the  hand  and  held  it 
while  he  said  :  — 

"It's  pretty  there  —  pretty,  pretty." 

"Yes,"  she  responded,  looking  at  the  back  of  her  hand, 
"  it's  very  pretty.  It  was  good  of  you  —  but  you  need  not 
be  frightened ;  I'm  not  going  to  thank  you.  Where  do  you 
suppose  he  is  at  this  moment  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Billy.  "  I  suppose  he's  be 
tween  Pittsburg  and  New  York." 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  him  at  Pittsburg  two  weeks  ago," 
said  Rita;  "but  I  have  heard  nothing  since.  His  work 
must  be  very  hard.  He  has  no  time  to  think  of  me." 

"  He  probably  finds  a  moment  now  and  then  for  that 
purpose,"  laughed  Billy. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  he  doesn't  think  of  me !  Of 
course  he  does  that  all  the  time.  I  mean  that  he  must 
have  little  time  for  writing." 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH   LOG         169 

"You  must  feel  very  sure  of  him  when  you  say  he 
thinks  of  you  all  the  time.  How  often  have  you  thought 
of  him  since  he  left  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

"  Once,"  replied  the  girl,  smiling  and  blushing. 

"  Do  you  mean  all  the  time  ?  "  queried  Billy. 

She  nodded  her  head.  "Yes,  all  the  time.  Oh,  Billy 
Little,  you  won't  mind  if  I  tell  you  about  it,  will  you  ?  I 
must  speak  —  and  there  is  no  one  else." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  to  say,  Rita  ? "  he  asked  softly. 

"I  hardly  know  —  perhaps  it  is  the  great  change  that 
has  taken  place  within  me  since  the  night  of  Scott's  social 
and  the  afternoon  I  shot  Doug  Hill.  I  seem  to  be  hun 
dreds  of  years  older.  I  must  have  been  a  child  before 
that  night." 

"You  are  a  child  now,  Rita." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  "trouble  matures  one." 

"  But  you  are  not  in  trouble  ?  " 

"N-o  —  "  she  answered  hesitatingly,  "but  —  but  this  is 
what  I  want  to  say.  Tell  me,  Billy  Little,  do  you  think 
anything  can  come  between  Die  and  me  ?  That  is  the 
thought  that  haunts  me  all  the  time  and  makes  me 
unhappy." 

"  Do  you  feel  sure  of  Die  ? "  asked  Billy. 

"  Indeed,  I  do,"  she  replied ;  "  I  am  as  sure  of  him  as  I 
am  of  myself." 

"  How  about  that  fellow  in  there  ?  "  asked  Billy,  pointing 
toward  the  house  with  his  thumb. 

"  How  ?     In  what  way  ? "  inquired  the  girl. 

"Don't  you  find  him  interesting  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

For  reply  she  laughed  softly.  The  question  was  not 
worth  answering.  The  bachelor  heart  had  felt  a  strong 
twinge  of  jealousy  on  Williams's  account,  because  it  knew 
that  with  wealth,  an  attractive  person,  and  full  knowledge 
of  the  world,  Williams  would,  in  the  long  run,  prove  a  dan 
gerous  rival  to  any  man  who  was  not  upon  the  field.  The 


1 7o  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

fact  that  Rita  dismissed  him  with  a  laugh  did  not  entirely 
reassure  the  bachelor  heart.  It  told  only  what  was  already 
known,  that  she  loved  Die  with  all  the  intensity  of  her 
nature.  But  Billy  also  knew  that  many  a  girl  with  such  a 
love  in  her  heart  for  one  man  had  married  another.  Rita, 
he  feared,  could  not  stand  against  the  domineering  will  of 
her  mother ;  and,  should  Williams  ply  his  suit,  Billy  felt 
sure  he  would  have  a  stubborn,  potent  ally  in  the  hard 
Chief  Justice.  There  was,  of  course,  an  "if,"  but  it  might 
easily  be  turned  into  a  terrible  "  is  "  —  terrible  for  Billy, 
Die,  and  Rita.  Billy  had  grown  used  to  the  thought  that 
Rita  would  some  day  become  Die's  wife,  and  after  the  first 
spasm  of  pain  the  thought  had  brought  joy ;  but  any  other 
man  than  Die  was  a  different  proposition,  and  Billy's  jeal 
ousy  was  easily  and  painfully  aroused.  He  endured  a 
species  of  vicarious  suffering  while  Die  was  not  present  to 
suffer  for  himself.  Soon  he  began  to  long  for  Die's  return 
that  he  might  do  his  own  suffering. 

Billy's  question  concerning  Williams  had  crystallized 
Rita's  feeling  that  the  "  fellow  in  there  "  was  "  making 
up  "  to  her,  and  when  she  returned  to  the  house  that  even 
ing,  she  had  few  words  for  Roger. 

Monday  Rita  was  unusually  industrious  during  the  day, 
but  the  evening  seemed  long.  She  was  not  uncivil  to  her 
father's  guest,  but  she  did  not  sit  by  him  on  the  edge  of 
the  porch  as  she  had  done  upon  the  first  evening  of  his 
visit.  He  frequently  came  to  her  side,  but  she  as  fre 
quently  made  an  adroit  excuse  to  leave  him.  She  did  not 
dislike  him,  but  she  had  found  him  growing  too  attentive. 
This  girl  was  honest  from  the  top  of  her  head  to  the  tips 
of  her  toes,  and  longed  to  let  Williams  understand  that  she 
was  the  property  of  another  man  to  whom  she  would  be 
true  in  the  spirit  and  in  the  letter. 

Tuesday  morning  the  guests  departed.  Mrs.  Bays  ur 
gently  invited  Williams  to  return,  and  he,  despite  Rita's 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG          171 

silence,  assured  his  hostess  that  he  would  accept  her  invi 
tation.  The  Indianapolis  project  had  been  agreed  upon, 
provided  Bays  could  raise  the  money.  If  that  could  be 
done,  the  new  firm  would  begin  operations  January  first. 
That  afternoon  Rita  went  to  the  step-off  and  looked  the 
Indianapolis  situation  in  the  face.  It  stared  back  at  her 
without  blinking,  and  she  could  evolve  no  plans  to  evade 
it.  Die  would  return  in  November  —  centuries  off  —  and 
she  felt  sure  he  would  bring  help.  Until  then,  Indianapolis, 
with  the  figures  of  her  mother  and  Williams  in  the  back 
ground,  loomed  ominously  before  her  vision. 

Williams's  second  visit  was  made  ostensibly  to  Rita's 
father.  The  third,  two  weeks  later,  was  made  openly  to 
her  father's  daughter.  It  was  preceded  by  an  ominous 
letter  to  Rita  requesting  the  privilege  of  making  the  visit 
to  her.  Rita  wished  to  answer  at  once  by  telling  him  that 
she  could  not  receive  him,  but  Rita's  mother  thought 
differently. 

"  Say  to  him,"  commanded  Mrs.  Bays,  "that  you  will  be 
pleased  to  see  him.  He  is  a  fine  young  man  with  a  true 
religious  nature.  I  find  that  he  has  been  brought  up  by  a 
God-fearing  mother.  I  would  not  have  you  receive  him 
because  he  is  rich,  but  that  fact  is  nothing  against  him.  I 
can't  for  the  life  of  me  understand  what  he  sees  in  you, 
but  if  he — "  she  stopped  speaking,  and  her  abrupt  silence 
was  more  emphatic  than  any  words  could  have  been.  Rita 
saw  at  once  the  drift  of  her  mother's  intentions  and 
trembled. 

"  But  I  would  not  be  pleased  to  see  him,  mother,"  the 
girl  responded  pleadingly ;  "  and  if  I  write  to  him  that  I 
would,  I  should  be  telling  a  lie." 

"  I  tell  a  lie,"  cried  the  stern  old  woman  in  apparent 
anguish.  "  Oh,  my  heart !  "  She  sank  to  a  chair,  and 
gasping  between  her  words,  continued,  "  Oh,  that  I 
should  have  lived  to  be  told  by  my  own  child  that  I'm  a 


I72  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

liar !  "  Her  head  fell  backward,  and  one  would  have  sup 
posed  dissolution  near.  Mr.  Bays  ran  to  fetch  a  cup  of 
water,  and  Rita  stood  in  deep  trouble  by  her  mother's  side 
fanning  her.  "A  liar !  a  liar ! "  moaned  the  dying  woman. 

"I  did  not  say  that,  mother.     I  said  —  " 

"  A  liar !  yes,  I'm  a  liar.  My  own  daughter  that  I  have 
loved  and  cherished  in  my  own  bosom,  and  have  toiled  and 
suffered  for  all  my  life,  says  I'm  a  liar." 

"  Mother,  I  protest,  dear  mother,  hear  me,"  began  Rita, 
but  mother  interrupted  her  by  closing  her  eyes  and  sup 
posedly  her  ears  as  if  she  were  on  the  point  of  passing 
over.  The  only  signs  of  life  in  the  old  woman  were  her 
gasps  for  breath.  The  girl,  who  had  no  deceit  in  her 
heart,  could  not  recognize  it  in  others,  least  of  all  was 
she  able  to  see  it  in  her  own  mother,  whose  transcendent 
virtues  had  been  dinned  into  her  ears  ever  since  she  had 
possessed  those  useful  organs.  Out  of  her  confiding  trust 
fulness  came  a  deadly  fear  for  her  mother's  life.  She  fell 
on  her  knees  and  cried :  "  Forgive  me,  mother  dear,  forgive 
me.  I  was  wrong.  I'll  write  whatever  you  wish." 

This  surrender,  I  know,  was  weak  in  our  heroine ;  but 
her  words  restored  her  mother  to  life  and  health,  and  Rita 
rejoiced  that  she  had  seen  her  duty  and  had  performed  it 
in  time. 

Justice  was  soon  again  in  equilibrium,  and  Rita,  amid  a 
flood  of  tears,  wrote  to  Williams,  "  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see 
you,"  and  he  came. 

She  did  not  treat  him  cordially,  though  she  was  not  un 
civil,  and  Williams  thought  her  reticence  was  due  to  mod 
esty,  —  a  mistake  frequently  made  by  self-sufficient  men. 
The  girl  felt  that  she  was  bound  by  her  letter,  and  that  she 
could  not  in  justice  mistreat  him.  It  was  by  her  invitation 
he  had  come.  He  could  not  know  that  she  had  been 
forced  to  write  the  letter,  and  she  could  not  blame  him  for 
acting  upon  it.  She  was  relieved  that  he  attempted  no 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG          173 

flattery,  and  felt  that  surely  her  lack  of  cordiality  would 
prevent  another  visit.  But  she  was  mistaken.  He  was 
not  a  man  easily  rebuffed. 

A  fortnight  later  Mrs.  Bays  announced  to  her  daughtej 
the  receipt  of  a  letter  from  Mr.  Williams,  stating  that  he 
would  be  on  hand  next  Saturday  evening. 

"  He  is  trying  to  induce  his  father  to  loan  us  the 
money,"  said  Mrs.  Bays,  "  and  your  father  and  I  want  you 
to  be  particularly  kind  to  him.  Your  father  and  I  have 
suffered  and  worked  and  toiled  for  you  all  your  life.  Now 
you  can  help  us,  and  you  shall  do  so." 

"  Mother,  I  can't  receive  him.  I  can't  talk  to  him.  It 
will  be  wicked.  It  would  not  be  honest ;  I  can't,  I  can't," 
sobbed  poor  Rita.  "  I  don't  know  much,  but  I  know  it  is 
wrong  for  me  to  receive  visits  from  Mr.  Williams  when 
there  can  be  nothing  between  —  between  —  " 

"  Why  can't  there  be  anything  between  you  and  Will 
iams,  girl  ?  Why  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Bays. 

"  There  are  many  reasons,  mother,"  returned  the  weep 
ing  girl,  "  even  if  it  were  not  for  Die  — 

"  Die  !  "  screamed  the  old  woman,  and  an  attack  of  heart 
trouble  at  once  ensued,  when  Rita  was  again  called  upon 
to  save  her  mother's  life. 

Thus  Williams  came  the  third  time  to  visit  Rita,  and 
showed  his  ignorance  of  womankind  by  proposing  marriage 
to  a  girl  who  was  unwilling  to  listen.  He  was  promptly  but 
politely  rejected,  and  won  the  girl's  contempt  by  asking 
for  her  friendship  if  he  could  not  have  her  love.  The 
friendship,  of  course,  was  readily  granted.  She  was  eager 
to  give  that  much  to  all  the  world. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  speak  of  this,  even  to  your  father 
or  mother,"  said  Williams.  "  Let  it  be  hereafter  as  if  I 
had  never  spoken.  I  regret  that  I  did  speak." 

Rita  gladly  consented  to  comply  with  his  request,  since 
she  was  certain  heart  trouble  would  ensue,  with  probably 


174 


A   FOREST   HEARTH 


fatal  results,  should  her  mother  learn  that  she  had  refused 
the  young  man  with  the  true  religious  nature. 

Williams  adroitly  regained  his  ground  by  exciting  Rita's 
ever  ready  sympathy,  and  hoped  to  remain  in  the  battle 
upon  the  plane  of  friendship  until  another  and  more 
favorable  opportunity  should  arise  for  a  successful  attack. 
His  was  a  tenacious  nature  that  held  to  a  purpose  by  hook 
or  by  crook  till  victory  crowned  his  efforts  or  defeat  was 
absolute. 

Williams  continued  to  visit  Rita,  and  Die  did  not  return 
till  Christmas.  During  the  last  month  of  waiting  the  girl's 
patient  longing  was  piteous  to  behold.  To  see  her  brought 
grief  to  Billy's  heart,  but  it  angered  the  Chief  Justice. 

Die  had  written  that  he  would  be  home  by  the  middle  of 
November,  and  Rita  had  counted  the  days,  even  the  hours, 
up  to  that  time;  but  when  he  did  not  arrive  as  expected,  she 
had  not  even  the  poor  comfort  of  computing  time,  for  she 
did  not  know  when  to  expect  him.  Each  day  of  longing 
and  fear  ended  in  disappointment  and  tears,  until  at  last,  on 
the  day  before  Christmas,  she  heard  from  the  lips  of  Sukey 
Yates  that  Die  was  at  home.  There  was  a  touch  of  dis 
appointment  in  receiving  the  news  from  Sukey,  but  the 
news  was  so  welcome  that  she  was  glad  to  have  it  from 
any  one. 

Sukey  had  ridden  over  to  see  Rita.  "  Why,  haven't  you 
seen  him  yet?"  cried  the  dimpler,  in  surprise.  "I  sup 
posed,  of  course,  he  would  come  here  first  —  before  seeing 
me.  Why,  I'm  quite  proud." 

"  No,"  returned  Rita ;  "  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  He'll  come  this  evening,  I'm  sure,"  said  Sukey,  pat 
ronizingly.  "  I  have  company  to-night.  He's  looking 
well,  though  he  was  sick  for  three  or  four  weeks  at  an  inn 
near  Wheeling.  His  illness  caused  the  delay  in  getting 
home.  I  just  thought  he  never  would  come,  didn't  you  ?  " 

Rita  was   too  happy  to   be  disturbed   by  insinuations 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG         175 

of  any  kind,  and  although  she  would  have  liked  to  be  the 
first  person  to  see  Die,  she  paid  no  heed  to  Sukey's  sug 
gestive  remarks. 

"  He's  as  handsome  as  ever,"  continued  Sukey,  "  and 
has  a  mustache.  But  you  will  see  him  for  yourself  this 
evening.  Good-by.  I  must  be  going.  Now  come  over 
real  soon." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Rita,  and  Sukey  left  her  musing 
happily  upon  the  hearth  log. 

Mr.  Bays  had  been  in  Indianapolis  for  several  days.  He 
had  not  raised  the  three  thousand  dollars,  Williams,  Sr., 
being  at  that  time  short  of  money.  Mrs.  Bays  and  Tom 
had  that  evening  driven  to  town  to  meet  the  nominal 
head  of  the  house.  It  was  two  o'clock  when  Sukey  left 
Rita  gazing  into  the  fire  and  computing  the  minutes  till 
evening,  when  she  knew  Die  would  be  with  her.  He 
might  possibly  come  over  for  supper. 

The  weather  was  cold,  and  snow  had  been  falling  since 
noon.  The  sycamore  log  was  under  the  snow,  and  she  did 
not  hope  to  have  Die  to  herself ;  but  to  have  him  at  all 
would  be  joy  sufficient,  and  she  would  dream  of  him  until 
he  should  come.  While  dreaming,  she  turned  her  face  tow 
ard  the  window  to  watch  the  falling  snow.  She  did  not  see 
the  snow,  but  instead  saw  a  man.  She  did  not  scream  with 
delight,  as  I  suppose  she  should  have  done  ;  she  simply  rose 
to  her  feet  and  waited  in  the  fireplace  till  the  door  opened 
and  Die  walked  in.  She  did  not  go  to  him,  but  stood 
motionless  till  he  came  to  her. 

"  Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me,  Rita  ?  "  he  asked.  He 
could  not  see  her  eyes  in  the  dark  room,  or  he  would  have 
had  no  need  to  ask.  "  Are  you  not  glad  ?  "  he  repeated. 
She  did  not  answer,  but  taking  his  face  between  her  hands 
drew  it  down  to  hers  with  infinite  tenderness  and  passion. 
Then,  with  her  arms  about  his  neck,  she  spoke  the  one 
word,  "  Glad  ?  "  and  Die  knew. 


176  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

After  she  had  uttered  the  big  word  of  one  syllable,  she 
buried  her  face  on  his  breast  and  began  to  weep. 

"  Don't  cry,  Rita,"  pleaded  Die,  "  don't  cry.  I  can't 
bear  it." 

"  Ah,  but  let  me  cry  for  one  little  moment,"  she  begged. 
"  It  is  better  than  laughing,  and  it  helps  me  so  much." 
There  was,  of  course,  but  one  answer,  and  Die,  turning 
up  her  tear-stained  face,  replied  eloquently. 

After  a  chaotic  period  of  several  minutes  they  took 
their  childhood's  place  upon  the  hearth  log  within  the 
warm,  bright  fireplace.  Die  stirred  the  fire,  and  the  girl, 
nestling  beside  him,  said  :  — 

"  Now  tell  me  everything." 

"  Where  shall  I  begin  ?  "  asked  Die  ;  and  after  a  pause 
in  which  to  find  a  starting-point,  he  said  :  — 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  little  present.  I  wanted  to  keep 
it  till  to-morrow  —  Christmas  —  but  I  find  I  cannot."  He 
produced  a  small  gold  watch  with  the  word  "  Rita"  en 
graved  upon  the  lid.  Rita  was  delighted  ;  but  after  a 
moment  or  two  of  admiration  she  repeated  her  request. 

Die  rapidly  ran  over  the  events  of  his  trip.  He  had 
brought  home  twenty-six  hundred  dollars,  and  the  gold  was 
at  that  moment  in  Billy  Little's  iron-box.  Of  the  wonders 
he  had  seen  he  would  tell  her  at  leisure.  He  had  received 
her  three  letters,  and  had  them  in  his  pocket  in  a  small 
leather  case  purchased  expressly  to  hold  them.  They  had 
never  left  his  person.  He  had  been  ill  at  an  inn  near 
Wheeling,  and  was  "  out  of  his  head  "  for  three  weeks  ; 
hence  his  failure  to  write  during  that  time. 

"  Yes,  Sukey  told  me  you  had  been  ill.  I  was  sorry  to 
learn  it.  Especially  —  especially  from  her,"  said  the  girl, 
with  eyes  bent  demurely  upon  the  hearth. 

"  Why  from  her  ? "  asked  Die. 

"  Well,  from  any  one,"  she  replied.  "  I  hoped  you 
would  come  to  see  me  first.  You  see,  I  am  a  very  exact- 


A   CHRISTMAS    HEARTH    LOG         177 

ing,  jealous,  disagreeable  person,  Die,  and  I  wanted  you  to 
see  me  and  tell  me  everything  before  you  should  go  to  see 
any  one  else." 

"  Indeed,  I  would,"  he  returned.  "  I  have  come  here 
first." 

"  Did  you  not  go  around  by  Sukey's  and  see  her  on 
your  way  home  ?  "  Rita  asked. 

"  I  did  not,"  replied  Die.  "  She  was  in  town  and  rode 
with  mother  and  me  as  far  as  the  Yates  cross-path.  She 
heard  me  telling  mother  I  had  been  ill." 

Die  did  not  tell  Rita  that  Sukey  had  whispered  to  him 
in  Billy  Little's  store  that  she,  Sukey,  had  been  going  to 
town  every  day  during  the  last  fortnight  in  the  hope  that 
she  might  be  the  first  one  to  see  him,  and  that  she  was  so 
wild  with  joy  at  his  return  that  she  could  easily  find  it  in 
her  heart  to  kiss  him  right  then  and  there  in  full  view  of 
a  large  and  appreciative  audience ;  and  that  if  he  would 
come  over  Christmas  night  when  the  folks  were  going  to 
Marion,  she  would  remain  at  home  and  —  and  would  he 
come  ?  Die  did  not  mention  these  small  matters,  and,  in 
fact,  had  forgotten  what  Sukey  had  said,  not  caring  a  baw 
bee  how  often  she  had  gone  to  meet  him  or  any  one  else, 
and  having  no  intention  to  accept  her  hospitality  Christmas 
night.  Sukey's  words  had,  for  a  moment,  tickled  his  van 
ity,  —  an  easy  task  for  a  pretty  woman  with  any  man,  — 
but  they  had  gone  no  deeper  than  his  vanity,  which,  in 
Die's  case,  was  not  very  deep. 


DIG   LENDS    MONEY    GRATIS 


CHAPTER   IX 
Die  LENDS  MONEY  GRATIS 

SUCH  an  hour  as  our  young  friends  spent  upon  the 
ciphering  log  would  amply  compensate  for  the 
trouble  of  living  a  very  long  life.  "  Everything," 
as  Rita  had  asked,  was  told  volubly,  until  Die,  perhaps  by 
accident,  clasped  Rita's  hand.  His  failure  to  do  so  earlier 
in  the  afternoon  had  been  an  oversight ;  but  after  the  over 
sight  had  been  corrected,  comparative  silence  and  watch 
ing  the  fire  from  the  ciphering  log  proved  a  sufficiently 
pleasant  pastime,  and  amply  good  enough  for  them. 
Good  enough  !  I  hope  they  have  fireplaces  and  cipher 
ing  logs,  soft,  magnetic  hands,  and  eloquent  silence  in  para 
dise,  else  the  place  will  surely  be  a  failure. 

Snow  was  falling  furiously,  and  dark  winter  clouds 
obscured  the  sinking  sun,  bringing  night  before  its  time ; 
and  so  it  happened  that  Rita  did  not  see  her  mother  pass 
the  window.  The  room  was  dark,  save  in  the  fireplace 
where  Rita  and  Die  were  sitting,  illumined  by  the  glow  of 
hickory  embers,  and  occasionally  by  a  flickering  flame  that 
spluttered  from  the  half-burned  back-log.  Unexpected  and 
undesired,  Mrs.  Bays,  followed  closely  by  our  friend  Will 
iams,  entered  through  the  front  door.  Die  sprang  to  his 
feet,  but  he  was  too  slow  by  several  seconds,  and  the  new 
comers  had  ample  opportunity  to  observe  his  strict  atten 
tion  to  the  business  in  hand.  Mrs.  Bays  bowed  stiffly 
to  Die,  and  walked  to  the  bed,  where  she  deposited  her 
wraps. 

181 


182  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

Williams  approached  Rita,  who  was  still  seated  in  the 
fireplace.  She  rose  and  accepted  his  proffered  hand,  for 
getting  in  her  confusion  to  introduce  Die.  Roger's  self- 
composure  came  to  his  relief. 

"This  must  be  Mr.  Bright,"  said  he,  holding  out  his 
hand  to  Die.  "  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  you  from 
Miss  Bays  during  the  last  four  months.  We  heard  in 
town  that  you  had  returned.  Since  Rita  will  not  intro 
duce  me,  I  will  perform  that  duty  for  myself.  I  am  Mr. 
Williams." 

"  How  do  you  do,"  said  Die,  as  he  took  Roger's  hand. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,"  said  Williams,  which,  as 
we  know,  was  a  polite  fiction.  Die  had  no  especial  occa 
sion  to  dispute  Williams's  statement,  but  for  some  unde 
fined  reason  he  doubted  its  truth.  He  did  not,  however, 
doubt  his  own  feelings,  but  knew  that  he  was  not  glad  to 
meet  Williams.  The  words,  "  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of 
you  from  Miss  Bays  during  the  last  four  months,"  had  so 
startled  him  that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else.  After 
the  narrative  of  his  own  adventures,  he  had,  in  imitation 
of  Rita,  asked  her  to  tell  him  "  everything  "  ;  but  the  name 
of  Williams,  her  four-months'  friend,  had  not  been  men 
tioned.  Die  could  not  know  that  the  girl  had  forgotten 
Williams's  very  existence  in  the  moment  of  her  joy.  Her 
forgetfulness  was  the  best  evidence  that  Williams  was 
nothing  to  her ;  but,  I  confess,  her  failure  to  speak  of  him 
had  an  ugly  appearance.  Williams  turned  to  Rita,  and, 
with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  because  Die  was  present, 
handed  her  a  small  package,  saying :  — 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  little  Christmas  gift." 

Rita  hesitatingly  accepted  the  package  with  a  whis 
pered  "  Thank  you,"  and  Mrs.  Bays  stepped  to  her  side, 
exclaiming :  — 

"  Ah,  how  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Williams." 

Rita,  Mrs.  Bays,  and  Williams  were  facing  the  fire,  and 


DIG    LENDS    MONEY   GRATIS          183 

Die  stood  back  in  the  shadow  of  the  room.  A  deep,  black 
shadow  it  was  to  Die. 

Mrs.  Bays,  taking  the  package  from  Rita's  hand,  opened 
it ;  and  there,  nestling  in  a  bed  of  blue  velvet,  was  a  tiny 
watch,  rich  with  jewels,  and  far  more  beautiful  than  the 
one  Die  had  brought  from  New  York.  Encircling  the 
watch  were  many  folds  of  a  massive  gold  chain.  Mrs. 
Bays  held  the  watch  up  to  the  light  of  the  firelight,  and  Die, 
with  an  aching  sensation  in  the  region  of  his  heart,  saw  its 
richness  at  a  glance.  He  knew  at  once  that  the  giver 
must  be  a  man  of  wealth ;  and  when  Mrs.  Bays  delight 
edly  threw  the  gold  chain  over  Rita's  head,  and  placed  the 
watch  in  her  unresisting  hand,  he  remarked  that  he  must 
be  going.  Poor,  terrified  Rita  did  not  hear  Die's  words. 
Receiving  no  reply,  he  took  his  hat  from  the  floor  where 
he  had  dropped  it  on  entering  the  room  several  centuries 
before,  opened  the  door,  and  walked  out. 

All  that  I  have  narrated  as  taking  place  after  Williams 
entered  upon  the  scene  occurred  within  the  space  of  two 
or  three  minutes,  and  Rita  first  learned  that  Die  was  going 
when  she  heard  the  door  close. 

"  Die !  "  she  cried,  and  started  to  follow  him,  but  her 
mother  caught  her  wrist  and  said  sternly  :  — 

"  Stay  here,  Rita.     Don't  go  to  the  door." 

"But,  mother—" 

"  Stay  here,  I  command  you,"  and  Rita  did  not  go  to 
the  door.  Die  met  Mr.  Bays  at  the  gate,  paused  for  a 
word  of  greeting,  and  plunged  into  the  snow-covered  forest, 
while  the  words  "  during  the  last  four  months  "  rang  in 
his  ears  with  a  din  that  was  almost  maddening. 

"  She  might  have  told  me,"  he  muttered,  speaking  as  if 
to  the  storm.  "  While  I  have  been  thinking  of  her  every 
moment,  she  has  been  listening  to  him.  But  her  letters 
were  full  of  love.  She  surely  loved  me  when  I  met  her 
two  hours  ago.  No  woman  could  feign  love  so  perfectly. 


184  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

She  must  love  me.  I  can't  believe  otherwise.  I  will  see 
her  again  to-night  and  she  will  explain  all,  I  am  sure. 
There  is  no  deceit  in  her."  His  returning  confidence 
eased,  though  it  did  not  cure,  his  pain.  It  substituted 
another  after  a  little  time  —  suspense.  It  was  not  in  his 
nature  to  brook  suspense,  and  he  determined  again  and 
again  to  see  Rita  that  evening. 

But  his  suspense  was  ended  without  seeing  Rita.  When 
he  reached  home  he  found  Sukey,  blushing  and  dimpling, 
before  the  fire,  talking  to  his  mother. 

"  Been  over  to  see  Rita  ? "  she  asked,  parting  her  moist, 
red  lips  in  a  smile,  showing  a  gleam  of  her  little,  white 
teeth,  and  dimpling  exquisitely. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Die,  laconically. 

"Thought  maybe  you  would  stay  for  supper,"  she  con 
tinued. 

"  No,"  replied  Die. 

"  Perhaps  the  other  fellow  was  there,"  remarked  Sukey, 
shrugging  her  plump  shoulders  and  laughing  softly.  Die 
did  not  reply,  but  drew  a  chair  to  the  hearth. 

"  Guess  they're  to  be  married  soon,"  volunteered  Sukey. 
"  He  has  been  coming  Saturdays  and  staying  over  Sunday 
ever  since  you  left.  Guess  he  waited  for  you  to  get  out  of 
the  way.  I  think  he's  so  handsome.  Met  him  one  Sun 
day  afternoon  at  the  step-off.  I  went  over  to  see  Rita, 
and  her  mother  said  she  had  gone  to  take  a  walk  with 
Mr.  Williams  in  that  direction  after  dinner.  I  knew  they 
would  be  at  the  step-off ;  it's  such  a  lonely  place.  He  lives 
in  Boston,  and  they  say  he's  enormously  rich."  During 
the  long  pause  that  followed  Die  found  himself  entirely 
relieved  of  suspense.  There  was  certainty  to  his  heart's 
content.  He  did  not  show  his  pain ;  and  much  to  her  joy 
Sukey  concluded  that  Die  did  not  care  anything  about  the 
relations  between  Williams  and  Rita. 

"  Rita  showed  me  the  ring  he   gave   her,"   continued 


DIG   LENDS   MONEY   GRATIS          185 

Sukey.  Die  winced,  but  controlled  himself.  It  was  his 
ring  that  Sukey  had  seen  on  Rita's  finger,  but  Die  did  not 
know  that. 

"  Some  folks  envy  her,"  observed  the  dimpler,  staring  in 
revery  at  the  fire.  "  She'll  have  a  fine  house,  servants,  and 
carriages "  —  Die  remembered  having  used  those  fatal 
words  himself  —  "  and  will  live  in  Boston  ;  but  for  myself 
—  well,  I  never  intend  to  marry,  but  if  I  do  I'll  take  one 
of  the  boys  around  here,  or  I'll  die  single.  The  boys  here 
are  plenty  good  enough  for  me." 

The  big,  blue  eyes,  covered  by  downcast  lashes,  were 
carefully  examining  a  pair  of  plump,  little,  brown  hands 
resting  in  her  lap,  but  after  a  pause  she  flashed  a  hurried 
glance  upon  Die,  which  he  did  not  see. 

When  a  woman  cruelly  wounds  a  man  as  Rita  had 
wounded  Die,  the  first  remedy  that  suggests  itself  to  the 
normal  masculine  mind  is  another  woman,  and  the  remedy 
is  usually  effective.  There  may  not  be  as  good  fish  in  the 
sea  as  the  one  he  wants,  but  good  fish  there  are,  in  great 
numbers.  Balm  of  Gilead  doubtless  has  curative  qualities ; 
but  for  a  sore,  jealous,  aching,  masculine  heart  I  would 
every  time  recommend  the  fish  of  the  sea. 

Sukey,  upon  Mrs.  Bright's  invitation,  remained  for  sup 
per,  and  Die,  of  course,  was  compelled  to  take  her  home. 
Upon  arrival  at  the  Yates  mansion,  Sukey  invited  Die  to 
enter.  Die  declined.  She  drew  off  her  mittens  and  took 
his  hand. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  "  your  hands  are  like  ice ;  you  must 
come  in  and  warm  them.  Please  do,"  so  Die  hitched  his 
horse  under  a  straw-covered  shed  and  went  in  with  the 
remedy.  One  might  have  travelled  far  and  wide  before 
finding  a  more  pleasant  remedy  than  Sukey ;  but  Die's  ail 
ments  were  beyond  cure,  and  Sukey's  smiles  might  as  well 
have  been  wasted  upon  her  brother  snowman  in  the  adjacent 
field. 


186  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Soon  after  Die's  arrival,  all  the  family,  save  Sukey,  ad 
journed  to  the  kitchen,  leaving  the  girl  and  her  "company" 
to  themselves,  after  the  dangerous  manner  of  the  times. 

If  any  member  of  the  family  should  remain  in  the  room 
where  the  young  lady  of  the  house  was  entertaining  a 
friend,  the  visitor  would  consider  himself  persona  non 
grata,  and  would  come  never  again.  Of  course  the  Bays 
family  had  never  retired  before  Die ;  but  he  had  always 
visited  Tom,  not  Rita. 

The  most  unendurable  part  of  Williams's  visits  to  Rita 
was  the  fact  that  they  were  made  to  her,  and  that  she  was 
compelled  to  sit  alone  with  him  through  the  long  evenings, 
talking  as  best  she  could  to  one  man  and  longing  for  an 
other.  When  that  state  of  affairs  exists,  and  the  woman 
happens  to  be  a  wife,  the  time  soon  comes  when  she  sighs 
for  the  pleasures  of  purgatory ;  yet  we  all  know  some  poor 
woman  who  meets  the  wrong  man  every  day  and  gives 
him  herself  and  her  life  because  God,  in  His  inscrutable 
wisdom,  has  permitted  a  terrible  mistake.  To  this  bond 
age  would  Rita's  mother  sell  her. 

Die  did  not  remain  long  with  the  tempting  little  rem 
edy.  While  his  hand  was  on  the  latch  she  detained  him 
with  many  questions,  and  danced  about  him  in  pretty 
impatience. 

"  Why  do  you  go  ?  "  she  asked  poutingly. 

"  You  said  Bob  Kaster  was  coming,"  replied  Die. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  stay  and  I'll  send  him  about  his  business 
quickly  enough,"  she  returned. 

"  Would  you,  Sukey  ?  "  asked  Die,  laughing. 

"  Indeed,  I  will,"  she  responded,  "  or  any  one  else,  if 
you  will  stay." 

She  took  his  hand  again,  and,  leaning  against  him,  smiled 
pleadingly  into  his  face.  Her  smiles  were  as  sweet  and 
enticing  as  she  or  any  other  girl  could  make.  There  were 
no  redder  lips,  no  whiter  teeth,  nor  prettier  dimples  than 


DIG    LENDS   MONEY    GRATIS          187 

Sukey's  on  all  Blue  River  or  any  other  river,  and  there 
could  be  no  prettier,  more  tempting  picture  than  this  pout 
ing  little  nymph  who  was  pleading  with  our  Joseph  not  to 
run  away.  But  Die,  not  caring  to  remain,  hurriedly  closed 
the  door  and  went  out  into  the  comforting  storm.  After 
he  had  gone  Sukey  went  to  the  ciphering  log  and  sat  gaz 
ing  meditatively  into  the  fire.  Vexation  and  disappointment 
alternately  held  possession  of  her  soul ;  but  Die  was  more 
attractive  to  her  because  he  was  unattainable,  and  she  im 
agined  herself  greatly  injured  and  deeply  in  love.  She  may 
have  imagined  the  truth ;  but  Sukey,  though  small  in  herself, 
had  a  large,  comprehensive  heart  wherein  several  admirers 
might  be  accommodated  without  overtaxing  its  capacity, 
and  soon  she  was  comforting  herself  with  Bob  Raster. 

There  was  little  rest  for  Die  that  night.  Had  he  been 
able  to  penetrate  darkness  and  log  walls,  and  could  he 
have  seen  Rita  sobbing  with  her  face  buried  in  her  pillow, 
he  might  have  slept  soundly.  But  darkness  and  log  walls 
are  not  to  be  penetrated  by  ordinary  eyes. 

Riding  home  from  Sukey's,  Die  thought  he  had  learned 
to  hate  Rita.  He  swore  mighty  oaths  that  he  would 
never  look  upon  her  face  again.  But  when  he  had  rested 
a  little  time  in  bed  he  recalled  her  fair  face,  her  gentleness, 
her  honesty,  and  her  thousand  perfections.  He  remem 
bered  the  small  hand  he  had  held  so  tenderly  a  few  hours 
since.  Its  magnetic  touch,  soft  as  the  hand  of  a  duchess, 
still  tingled  through  his  nerves.  With  these  memories 
came  an  anguish  that  beat  down  his  pride,  and,  like  Rita, 
he  clasped  his  hands  over  his  head,  turned  his  face  to  his 
pillow,  and  alas  !  that  I  should  say  it  of  a  strong  man,  wept 
bitter,  scalding  tears. 

Do  the  real  griefs  of  life  come  with  age  ?  If  Die  should 
live  till  his  years  outnumbered  those  of  Methuselah,  no  pain 
could  ever  come  to  him  worthy  of  mention  compared  to 
this.  It  awakened  him  to  the  quality  and  quantity  of  his 


i88  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

love.  It  seemed  that  he  had  loved  her  ever  since  she  lisped 
his  name  and  clung  to  his  finger  in  tottering  babyhood. 
He  .looked  back  over  the  years  and  failed  to  see  one 
moment  in  all  the  myriads  of  moments  when  he  did  not 
believe  himself  first  in  her  heart  as  she  had  always  been 
first  in  his ;  and  now,  after  he  had  waited  patiently,  and 
after  she,  out  of  her  own  full  heart,  had  confessed  her 
woman's  love,  after  she  had  given  him  herself  in  abject, 
sweet  surrender,  and  had  taken  him  for  her  own,  the 
thought  of  her  perfidy  was  torture  to  him.  Then  came 
again  like  a  soothing  balm  the  young  memory  of  their  last 
meeting.  He  recalled  and  weighed  every  word,  act,  and 
look.  Surely,  he  thought,  no  woman  could  feign  the  love 
she  had  shown  for  him.  She  had  not  even  tried  to  show 
her  love.  It  had  been  irrepressible.  Why  should  she 
wish  to  feign  a  love  she  did  not  feel?  There  was  nothing 
she  could  gain  by  deceit.  But  upon  the  heels  of  this  slight 
hope  came  that  incontestable  fact,  —  Williams.  Die  could 
see  her  sitting  with  the  stranger  as  she  had  sat  with  him 
self  at  the  step-off.  Williams  had  been  coming  for  four 
months.  She  might  be  in  his  arms  at  that  moment  —  the 
hour  was  still  early  —  before  the  old  familiar  fireplace, 
while  the  family  were  in  the  kitchen.  He  could  not  endure 
the  picture  he  had  conjured,  so  he  rose  from  his  bed, 
dressed,  stole  softly  from  the  house,  and  walked  through 
the  winter  storm  down  the  river  to  Bays's.  Feeling  like  a 
thief,  he  crept  to  the  window.  The  night  being  cold,  the 
fire  had  not  been  banked,  but  threw  its  glow  out  into  the 
room;  and  Die's  heart  leaped  for  joy  when  he  saw 
the  room  was  empty.  At  that  same  moment  Rita  was  in 
her  own  room,  not  twenty  feet  away  from  him,  sobbing  on 
her  pillow  and  wishing  she  were  dead. 

Dick's  discovery  of  the  empty  room  had  no  real  signifi 
cance,  but  it  seemed  a  good  omen,  and  he  went  home  and 
slept. 


DIG   LENDS    MONEY   GRATIS          189 

Rita  did  not  sleep.  She  knew  the  first  step  had  been 
taken  to  separate  her  from  Die.  She  feared  the  separation 
was  really  effected.  She  had  offended  this  manly,  patient 
lover  so  frequently  that  surely,  she  thought,  he  would  not 
forgive  her  this  last  and  greatest  insult.  She  upbraided 
herself  for  having,  through  stupidity  and  cowardice, 
allowed  him  to  leave  her.  He  had  belonged  to  her  for 
years ;  and  the  sweet  thought  that  she  belonged  to  him,  and 
that  it  was  her  God-given  privilege  to  give  herself  to  him 
and  to  no  other,  pressed  upon  her  heart,  and  she  cried  out 
in  the  darkness  :  "  I  will  not  give  him  up  !  I  will  not !  If 
he  will  forgive  me,  I  will  fall  upon  my  knees  and  beg  him 
to  try  me  once  again." 

Christmas  was  a  long,  wretched  day  for  Die.  What  it 
was  to  Rita  you  may  easily  surmise.  Early  after  supper 
Die  walked  over  to  see  Sukey,  and  his  coming  filled  that 
young  lady's  ardent  little  soul  with  delight.  His  reasons 
for  going  would  be  hard  to  define.  Perhaps  his  chief 
motive  was  the  hope  of  running  away  from  himself,  and  the 
possibility  of  hearing  another  budget  of  unwelcome  news 
concerning  Rita  and  Williams.  He  dreaded  to  hear  it ;  but 
he  longed  to  know  all  there  was  to  be  known,  and  he  felt 
sure  Sukey  had  exhaustive  knowledge  on  the  subject,  and 
would  be  ready  to  impart  it  upon  invitation. 

He  had  been  sitting  with  Sukey  half  an  hour  when  Tom 
Bays  walked  in.  Thomas,  of  course,  could  not  remain  when 
he  found  the  field  occupied;  and  much  to  Die's  regret  and 
Sukey's  delight  he  took  his  departure,  after  a  visit  of  ten 
minutes.  Die  urged  him  to  remain,  saying  that  he  was 
going  soon,  and  Sukey  added,  "Yes,  won't  you  stay?"  But 
she  was  far  from  enthusiastic,  and  Thomas  went  home 
with  disappointment  in  his  heart  and  profanity  on  his  lips. 

When  Tom  entered  the  room  where  Rita  was  doing  her 
best  to  entertain  Williams,  she  said,  "  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  see  Sukey  ?  " 


igo  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  Die's  there,"  answered  Tom,  and  Rita's  white  face 
grew  whiter. 

Tom  started  toward  the  back  door  on  his  way  to  the 
kitchen,  where  his  father  and  mother  were  sitting,  and 
Rita  said,  pleadingly  :  — 

"  Don't  go,  Tom  ;  stay  here  with  us.  Please  do."  She 
forgot  Williams  and  continued :  "  Please,  brother.  I  don't 
ask  much  of  you.  This  is  a  little  thing  to  do  for  me. 
Please  stay  here,"  but  brother  laughed  and  went  to  the 
kitchen  without  so  much  as  answering  her. 

When  the  door  closed  on  Tom,  Rita  stood  for  a  moment 
in  front  of  the  fireplace,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  began  to  weep.  Williams  approached  her,  over 
flowing  with  consolation,  and  placed  his  hand  caressingly 
upon  her  arm.  She  sprang  from  him  as  if  she  had  been 
stung,  and  cried  out :  — 

"  Don't  put  your  hand  on  me  !  Don't  touch  me !  "  She 
stepped  backward  toward  the  door  leading  upstairs  to  her 
room. 

"  Why,  Rita,"  said  Williams,  "  I  did  not  intend  anything 
wrong.  I  would  not  offend  you  for  all  the  world.  You 
are  nervous,  Rita,  and  —  and  —  " 

"  Don't  call  me  Rita,"  she  interrupted,  sobbing.  "  I 
hate  —  I  hate  —  "  she  was  going  to  say  "  I  hate  you,"  but 
said,  —  "the  name." 

He  still  approached  her,  though  she  had  been  retreating 
backward  step  by  step.  He  had  no  thought  of  touching 
her ;  but  as  he  came  toward  her,  she  lost  self-control  and 
almost  screamed :  — 

"  Don't  touch  me,  I  say !  Don't  touch  me !  "  She  had 
endured  his  presence  till  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 
the  thought  of  Die  sitting  with  Sukey  had  so  wrought 
upon  her  that  her  self-control  was  exhausted.  Williams 
walked  back  to  the  fireplace,  and  Rita,  opening  the  stair 
door,  hurriedly  went  to  her  room. 


'COVERING    HER    FACE   WITH    HER    HANDS,   SHE   BEGAN   TO    WEEP. 


DIG   LENDS    MONEY   GRATIS          193 

She  was  not  one  in  whom  the  baser  sort  of  jealousy 
could  exist ;  but  the  thought  of  Die,  her  Die,  sitting  with 
Sukey,  while  she  was  compelled  to  endure  the  presence  of 
the  man  she  had  learned  almost  to  hate,  burned  her.  Her 
jealousy  did  not  take  the  form  of  hatred  toward  Sukey, 
and  the  pain  it  brought  her  was  chiefly  because  it  con 
firmed  her  in  the  belief  that  she  had  lost  Die.  She  did 
not  doubt  that  Die  had  loved  her,  and  her  faith  in  that  fact 
quickened  her  sense  of  loss.  She  blamed  no  one  but  her 
self  for  the  fact  that  he  no  longer  loved  her,  and  was  seek 
ing  another.  Still,  she  was  jealous,  though  even  that 
unholy  passion  could  not  be  base  in  her. 

Sukey  smiled  and  dimpled  at  Die  for  an  hour  or  two 
with  no  appreciable  effect.  He  sat  watching  the  fire,  see 
ing  none  of  her  little  love  signals,  and  went  home  quite 
as  wretched  as  he  had  come.  Evidently,  Sukey  was  the 
wrong  remedy,  though  upon  seeing  her  charms  one  would 
have  felt  almost  justified  in  warranting  her,  —  no  cure,  no 
pay.  Perhaps  she  was  a  too-willing  remedy :  an  over 
dose  of  even  the  right  drug  may  neutralize  itself.  As  for 
myself,  I  love  Die  better  because  his  ailment  responded 
to  no  remedy. 

Next  day,  Tom,  without  at  all  deserving  it,  won  Rita's 
gratitude  by  taking  Williams  out  shooting. 

After  supper  Rita  said,  "  My  head  aches,  and  if  I  may 
be  excused,  I  will  go  to  my  room." 

But  her  mother  vetoed  the  proposition :  — 

"  Your  head  does  not  ache,  and  you  will  stay  downstairs. 
Your  father  and  I  are  going  to  church,  and  Mr.  Williams 
will  not  want  to  be  alone,  will  you,  Mr.  Williams  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  Miss  Bays  will  keep  me  company," 
answered  this  persistent,  not-to-be-shaken-off  suitor. 

So  Rita  remained  downstairs  with  Williams  and  listened 
to  his  apologies  for  having  offended  her  the  night  before. 
She  felt  contrite,  and  in  turn  told  him  she  was  the  one  who 


i94  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

should  apologize,  and  said  she  hoped  he  would  forgive  her. 
Her  gentle  heart  could  not  bear  to  inflict  pain  even  upon 
this  man  who  had  brought  so  much  suffering  to  her. 

The  next  morning  took  Williams  away,  and  Rita's 
thoughts  were  all  devoted  to  formulating  a  plan  whereby 
she  might  see  Die  and  beg  his  forgiveness  after  a  fashion 
that  would  have  been  a  revelation  to  Williams. 

Several  days  of  furious  storm  ensued,  during  which  our 
Rita,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was  too  ill  to  go  abroad. 

Mr.  Bays  had  gone  to  Indianapolis  with  Williams,  and 
returned  on  Thursday's  coach,  having  failed  to  raise  the 
three  thousand  dollars.  At  the  supper  table,  on  the 
evening  of  his  return,  Tom  offered  a  suggestion. 

"  I'll  tell  you  where  you  can  get  most  of  the  money," 
he  said.  "  Die  has  twenty-six  hundred  dollars  in  Billy 
Little's  box.  He'll  loan  it  to  you." 

"That's  just  the  thing,"  cried  Mrs.  Bays,'  joyfully. 
"  Tom,  you  are  the  smartest  boy  on  Blue.  It  took 
you  to  help  us  out."  One  would  have  thought  from  her 
praise  that  Tom,  and  not  Die,  was  to  furnish  the  money. 
Addressing  her  husband,  she  continued  :  — 

"  You  go  over  and  see  him  this  evening.  If  he  won't 
loan  it  to  us  after  all  we  have  done  for  him,  he  ought  to  be 
horsewhipped." 

"  What  have  we  ever  done  for  him  ?  "  asked  Tom.  The 
Chief  Justice  sought  for  an  answer.  Failing  to  find  a 
better  one,  she  replied :  — 

"  He's  had  five  hundred  meals  in  this  house  if  he's  had 
one." 

"  And  he's  given  us  five  hundred  deer  and  turkeys  if 
he's  given  us  one,"  answered  Tom. 

"Well,  you  know,  Tom,  just  as  well  as  I  do,  that  we 
have  always  been  helping  him.  It  is  only  your  generous 
nature  keeps  you  from  saying  so,"  responded  Mrs.  Bays. 
Tom  laughed,  and  Tom,  Sr.,  said :  — 


DIG    LENDS    MONEY    GRATIS          195 

"  I'll  go  over  and  see  him  this  evening.  I  wonder 
where  he  has  been  ?  I  haven't  seen  him  but  once  since 
he  came  home." 

"  Guess  Williams  scared  him  off,"  suggested  Tom. 

Rita  tried  in  vain  to  think  of  some  plan  whereby  she 
might  warn  Die  against  loaning  the  money,  or  prevent 
her  father  from  asking  it.  After  supper  Tom  went  to 
town  while  his  father  went  up  to  see  Die. 

When  the  after-supper  work  was  finished,  Mrs.  Bays 
took  her  knitting  and  sat  before  the  fire  in  the  front  room. 
Rita,  wishing  to  be  alone,  remained  in  the  kitchen,  watch 
ing  the  fire  die  down  and  cuddling  her  grief.  She  had 
been  there  but  a  few  minutes  when  the  outer  door  opened 
and  in  walked  Die. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  if  you  have  forgotten  me  ? "  he 
said. 

The  girl  answered  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and  ran  to  him. 

"  Ah,  Die,  I  have  forgotten  all  else.  Forgive  me.  For 
give  me,"  she  replied,  and  as  the  tears  came,  he  drew  her  to 
his  side. 

"  But,  Rita  —  this  man  Williams  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  ...  I  know,  Die,"  she  said  between  sobs,  "  I  ...  I 
know,  but  I  can't  .  .  .  can't  tell  you  now.  Wait  till  I  can 
speak.  But  I  love  you.  I  ...  can  tell  you  that  much. 
I  will  try  to  ...  to  explain  when  ...  I  can  talk." 

"You  need  explain  nothing,"  said  Die,  soothingly.  "I 
want  only  to  know  that  you  have  not  forgotten  me.  I 
have  suffered  terribly  these  last  few  days." 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  responded  the  sobbing  girl,  unconscious 
of  her  apparent  selfishness. 

The  kitchen  fireplace  was  too  small  for  a  hearth  log,  so 
Die  and  Rita  took  chairs  before  the  fire,  and  the  girl, 
regardless  of  falling  tears,  began  her  explanation. 

"You  see,  it  was  this  way,  Die,"  she  sobbed.  "He 
came  with  Uncle  Jim,  and  then  he  came  again  and  again. 


196  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

I  did  not  want  him  —  I  am  sure  you  know  that  I  did  not 

—  but  mother  insisted,  and  I  thought  you  would  make  it  all 
right  when  you  returned.      You  know  mother  has  heart 
trouble,  and  any  excitement  may  kill  her.     She  is  so  —  so 

—  her  will  is  so  strong,  and  I  fear  her  and  love  her  so  much. 
She  is  my  mother,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  obey  her  when  — 
when  I  can.     The  time  may  come  when  I  cannot  obey  her. 
It  has  come,  several  times,  and  when  I  disobey  her  I  suffer 
terribly  and  always  think  how  I  would  feel  if  she  were  to 
die."   ' 

Die  longed  to  enlighten  her  concerning  the  mother  heart, 
but  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  attack  even  his  arch 
enemy  through  Rita's  simple,  unquestioning  faith.  That 
faith  was  a  part  of  the  girl's  transcendent  perfection,  and 
a  good  daughter  would  surely  make  a  good  wife. 

Rita  continued  her  explanation  :  "  He  came  many  times 
to  see  me,  and  it  seems  as  though  he  grew  to  liking  me. 
Then  he  asked  me  to  marry  him,  but  I  refused,  Die;  I 
refused.  I  should  have  told  him  then  that  I  had  promised 
to  be  your  wife  -  "  here  she  gave  Die  her  hand  —  "  but 
I  was  ashamed  and  —  and,  oh,  I  can't  explain  after  all.  I 
can't  tell  you  how  it  all  happened.  I  thought  I  could;  but 
I  really  do  not  myself  understand  how  it  has  all  come  about." 

"  You  have  not  promised  him  ?  "  asked  Die  in  alarm. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  not,  and  I  never  shall.  He  has  tried, 
with  mother's  help,  to  force  himself  upon  me,  and  I  have 
been  frightened  almost  to  death  for  fear  he  would  succeed. 
Oh,  take  me  now,  Die.  Take  me  at  once  and  save  me 
from  him." 

"  I  would,  Rita,  but  you  are  not  yet  eighteen,  and  we 
must  have  the  consent  of  your  parents  before  we  can 
marry.  That,  you  know,  your  mother  would  refuse. 
When  you  are  eighteen  —  but  that  will  be  almost  a  year 
from  now  —  I  will  take  you  home  with  me.  Do  not  fear. 
Give  me  your  love,  and  trust  to  me  for  the  rest." 


DIG   LENDS    MONEY   GRATIS          197 

"  Now  I  feel  safe,"  she  cried,  snatching  up  Die's  hand. 
"  You  are  stronger  than  mother.  I  saw  that  the  evening 
before  you  left,  when  we  were  all  on  the  porch  and  you 
spoke  up  so  bravely  to  her.  You  will  meet  her  face  to 
face  and  beat  down  her  will.  I  can't  do  it.  I  become 
helpless  when  she  attacks  me.  I  am  miserably  weak.  I 
sometimes  hate  myself  and  fear  I  should  not  marry  you. 
I  know  I  shall  not  be  able  to  make  you  a  good  wife." 

Die  expressed  an  entire  willingness  to  take  the  risk. 
"  But  why  did  you  accept  a  ring  from  him  ?  " 

"  I  did  not,"  responded  Rita,  with  wide-open  eyes. 
"He  offered  me  a  diamond  when  he  asked  me  to  —  to  — 
but  I  refused  it.  I  gave  him  back  his  watch,  too  ;  but 
mother  does  not  know  I  did.  She  would  be  angry.  She 
thinks  the  watch  you  gave  me  is  the  one  he  offered." 

"  Sukey  Yates  said  you  showed  her  his  ring." 

"  Die,"  returned  Rita,  firing  up  indignantly,  "did  Sukey 
tell  you  that —  that  lie?  I  don't  like  to  use  the  word,  but, 
Die,  she  lied.  She  once  saw  your  ring  upon  my  finger, 
before  I  could  hide  it  from  her,  but  I  did  not  tell  her  who 
had  given  it  to  me.  I  told  her  nothing.  I  don't  believe 
she  intended  to  tell  a  story.  I  am  sorry  I  used  the  other 
word.  She  probably  thought  that  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  that  man 
had  given  .it  to  me."  After  she  had  spoken,  a  shadowy 
little  cloud  came  upon  her  face.  "  You  were  over  to  see 
Sukey  Christmas  night,"  she  said,  looking  very  straight  into 
the  fire. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Die.  "  How  did  you  learn  that  I  was 
there  ? " 

"  Tom  told  me,"  she  answered.  "  And  I  cried  right  out 
before  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  the  Boston  man." 

"  Ah,  did  you  ? "  asked  Die,  leaning  forward  and  taking 
her  hand. 

"  Yes;  and  when  he  put  his  hand  on  my  arm,"  she  con 
tinued,  very  proud  of  the  spirit  she  had  shown,  "  I  just  flew 


i98  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

at  him  savagely.  Oh,  I  can  be  fierce  when  I  wish.  He 
will  never  touch  me  again,  you  may  depend  on  it."  She 
then  gave  the  details  of  the  scene  with  Williams,  dwelling 
proudly  upon  the  fact  of  her  successful  retreat  to  bed,  and 
meekly  telling  of  what  she  called  her  jealousy  and  wicked 
ness.  She  had  asked  forgiveness  of  God,  and  now  she 
would  ask  it  of  Die,  evidently  believing  that  if  God  and 
Die  would  forgive  her  wicked  jealousy,  no  one  else  had  any 
right  to  complain.  She  was  justly  proud  of  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  accomplished  the  retreat  movement,  and 
really  felt  that  she  was  becoming  dare-devilish  to  a  degree 
seldom,  if  ever,  equalled  by  an  undutiful  daughter. 

"You  don't  know  how  wicked  I  can  be,"  she  said,  in 
great  earnestness. 

"  I  know  how  good  and  beautiful  you  are,"  answered 
Die.  "  I  know  you  are  the  one.  perfect  human  being  in 
all  the  world  —  and  it  is  useless  for  me  to  try  to  tell  you 
how  much  you  are  to  me.  When  I  am  alone,  I  am  better 
able  to  realize  what  I  feel,  but  I  cannot  speak  it." 

"  Oh,  Die,  is  it  really  true  ?  "  asked  the  girl.  "  Neither 
can  I  tell  how  —  how  —  "  but  those  emotions  which  cannot 
be  spoken  in  words,  owing  to  the  poverty  of  our  language, 
must  be  expressed  otherwise.  God  or  Satan  taught  the 
proper  method  to  Adam  and  Eve,  and  it  has  come  down  to 
us  by  patristic  succession,  so  that  we  have  it  to-day  in  all 
its  pristine  glory  and  expressiveness.  Some  have  spoken 
against  the  time-honored  custom,  and  claim  to  mark  its 
decadence.  Connecticut  forbade  it  by  law  on  Sundays, 
and  frowned  upon  it  "  Fridays,  Saturdays,  and  all "  ;  but 
when  it  dies,  the  Lord  will  whitewash  this  old  earth  and  let 
it  out  as  a  moon  to  shine  upon  happier  worlds  where  the 
custom  still  lives. 

Rita  and  Die  did  not  disturb  Mrs.  Bays,  and  she,  uncon 
scious  of  his  presence,  did  not  disturb  them  until  Mr.  Bays 
returned. 


DIG    LENDS    MONEY   GRATIS          199 

When  Mrs.  Bays  learned  that  Die  had  been  in  the 
kitchen  an  hour,  she  felt  that  the  highest  attribute  of  the 
human  mind  had  been  grossly  outraged.  But  her  husband 
was  about  to  ask  a  favor  of  Die,  and  she  limited  her 
expression  of  dissent  to  an  exhibition  of  frigid,  virtuous 
dignity,  worthy  of  the  king's  bench,  or  Judge  Anselm 
Fisher  himself. 

When  Bays  came  home,  Die  and  Rita  went  into  the 
front  room  and  took  their  old  places  on  the  ciphering  log. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bays  sat  on  the  hearth  before  the  fire. 
Mrs.  Bays  brought  a  chair  and  indicated  by  a  gesture  that 
Rita  should  occupy  it;  but  with  Die  by  her  side  that  young 
lady  was  brave  and  did  not  observe  her  mother's  mute 
commands.  Amid  the  press  of  other  matters  in  the  kitchen, 
Rita  had  not  remembered  to  warn  Die  not  to  lend  her 
father  the  money.  When  that  fluttering  heart  of  hers  was 
in  great  trouble  or  joy,  it  was  apt  to  be  a  forgetful  little 
organ,  and  regret  in  this  instance  followed  forgetfulness. 
The  regret  came  after  she  was  seated  with  Die  on  the 
hearth  log,  and,  being  in  her  mother's  presence,  dared  not 
speak. 

Mr.  Bays  was  genuinely  glad  to  see  Die,  and  listened 
with  delight  to  the  narrative  of  his  trip.  When  an  oppor 
tunity  arose,  Tom,  Sr.,  said  :  — 

"  I  have  a  fine  opportunity  to  go  into  business  with  Jim 
Fisher.  I  want  to  borrow  three  thousand  dollars,  and  I 
wonder  if  you  will  be  willing  to  lend  me  your  money  ? " 

"Yes,"  answered  Die,  eagerly,  "  I  am  glad  to  lend  it  to 
you."  He  welcomed  the  proposition  as  a  blind  man  would 
welcome  light.  He  was  glad  to  help  his  lifelong  friend ; 
but  over  and  above  that  motive  Mr.  Bays's  request  for 
money  seemed  to  mean  Rita.  It  certainly  could  mean 
nothing  else ;  and  if  the  family  moved  to  Indianapolis,  it 
would  mean  Rita  in  the  cosey  log-cabin  up  the  river  at 
once.  Die  and  his  mother  lived  together,  and,  even  with- 


200  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

out  Rita,  the  log  house  was  a  delightful  home,  warm  in 
winter  and  cool  in  summer ;  but  the  beautiful  girl  would 
transmute  the  log  walls  to  jasper,  the  hewed  floors  to  beaten 
gold,  and  would  create  a  paradise  on  the  banks  of  Blue. 
The  thought  almost  made  him  dizzy.  He  had  never  before 
felt  so  near  to  possessing  her. 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  he  repeated. 

"  I  will  pay  you  the  highest  rate  of  interest,"  said  Mr. 
Bays. 

"  I  want  no  interest,  and  you  may  repay  the  loan  in  one 
or  ten  years,  as  you  choose." 

Rita,  unable  to  repress  her  desire  to  speak,  exclaimed : 
"  Oh,  Die,  please  don't,"  but  Mrs.  Bays  gazed  sternly  over 
her  glasses  at  her  daughter  and  suppressed  the  presumptu 
ous,  forward  girl.  The  old  lady,  seeing  Die's  eagerness  to 
lend  the  money,  seized  the  opportunity  to  lessen  her  obli 
gation  in  the  transaction  and  to  make  it  appear  that  she 
was  conferring  a  favor  upon  Die.  If  she  and  Mr.  Bays 
would  condescend  to  borrow  his  money,  she  determined 
that  Die  should  fully  appreciate  the  honor  they  were  doing 
him.  Therefore,  after  a  formulative  pause,  she  spoke  to 
her  daughter :  — 

"  Mind  your  own  affairs.  Girls  should  be  seen  and  not 
heard.  Some  girls  are  seen  altogether  too  much.  Your 
father  and  Die  will  arrange  this  affair  between  themselves 
without  your  help.  It  is  purely  an  affair  of  business.  Die, 
of  course,  wishes  to  invest  his  money ;  and  if  your  father, 
after  due  consideration,  is  willing  to  help  him,  I  am  sure 
he  should  feel  obliged  to  us,  and  no  doubt  he  will.  He 
would  be  an  ungrateful  person  indeed  if  he  did  not.  I 
am  sure  your  father's  note  is  as  good  as  the  bank.  He 
pays  his  just  debts.  He  is  my  husband  and  could  not  do 
otherwise.  No  man  lives  who  has  not  at  all  times  received 
his  dues  from  us  to  the  last  penny.  If  a  penny  is  coming 
to  us,  we  want  it.  If  we  owe  one,  we  pay  it.  My  father, 


DIG   LENDS   MONEY   GRATIS          201 

Judge  Anselm  Fisher,  was  the  same  way.  His  maxim 
was,  'Justice  to  all  and  confusion  to  sinners.'  He  died 
beholden  to  no  man.  Neither  have  I  ever  been  beholden 
to  any  one.  Die  is  fortunate,  indeed,  in  finding  so  good 
an  investment  for  his  money,  at  interest;  very  fortunate 
indeed." 

"  I  don't  want  interest,"  said  the  too  eager  Die. 

"  Indeed,  that  is  generous  in  you,"  returned  Mrs.  Bays, 
though  she  was  determined  that  Die  should  not  succeed  in 
casting  the  burden  of  an  obligation  upon  her  shoulders. 
"  But  of  course  you  know  your  money  will  be  safe,  and 
that  is  a  great  deal  in  these  days  of  weak  banks  and  rob 
bers.  If  I  were  in  Mr.  Bays's  place,  I  should  pause  and 
consider  the  matter  carefully  and  prayerfully  before  assum 
ing  responsibility  for  anybody's  money.  If  it  should  be 
stolen  from  him,  he,  and  not  you,  would  lose  it.  I  think 
it  is  very  kind  in  him  to  undertake  the  responsibility." 

That  phase  of  the  question  slightly  dimmed  its  rosiness  ; 
but  Die  still  hoped  that  lending  the  money  would  make 
smoother  his  path  to  Rita.  At  first  he  had  not  foreseen 
that  he,  and  not  the  Bayses,  would  rest  under  an  obligation. 
To  the  girl  the  lending  of  this  money  meant  Indianapolis, 
Williams,  and  separation  from  Die. 


THE    TOURNAMENT 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  TOURNAMENT 

MR.  BAYS,  rash  man  that  he  was,  without  care  or 
prayer,  accepted  Die's  loan  and  was  thankful, 
despite  the  good  wife's  effort  to  convince  him  he 
was  conferring  a  favor.  Her  remarks  had  been  much  more 
convincing  to  Die  than  to  her  husband.  The  latter  could 
not  entirely  throw  off  the  feeling  that  Die  was  doing  him 
a  favor. 

The  money  was  to  be  delivered  and  the  note  executed 
in  ten  days,  Mrs.  Margarita  insisting  that  Die  should  be 
responsible  for  his  own  money  until  it  was  needed  by  her 
husband. 

"He  certainly  would  not  ask  us  to  be  responsible  for 
his  money  till  we  can  use  it,"  she  observed,  in  an  injured 
tone,  to  her  daughter.  One  would  have  supposed  from 
her  attitude  that  an  imposition  was  being  put  upon  her, 
though  she,  herself,  being  accustomed  to  bear  the  burdens 
of  others,  would  bow  her  neck  beneath  this  yoke  and 
accept  the  responsibility  of  Die's  money.  She  not  only 
convinced  herself  that  such  was  the  proper  view  to  take 
of  the  transaction,  but  succeeded  fairly  well  in  impressing 
even  Rita  with  that  belief.  Such  an  achievement  required 
generalship  of  the  highest  order ;  but  Mrs.  Bays  possessed 
that  rare  quality  to  a  degree  seldom,  if  ever,  equalled. 

The  loan  was  to  bear  no  interest,  Die  hoping  to  heighten 
the  sense  of  obligation  in  Mr.  Bays.  He  succeeded ;  but 
of  course  the  important  member  of  the  family  still  felt  that 

205 


206  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Die  was  beholden  to  her.  She  could  not,  however,  with 
either  safety  or  justice,  exclude  from  her  house  the  man 
who  was  to  lend  the  much-needed  money.  While  she 
realized  the  great  favor  she  was  conferring  on  Die,  and 
fully  understood  the  nature  of  the  burden  she  was  taking 
upon  herself  solely  for  his  sake,  she  had  no  thought  of 
shrinking  from  her  duty;  —  not  she.  The  money  had  not 
been  delivered,  and  Die,  if  offended,  might  change  his 
mind  and  foolishly  refuse  her  sacrifice.  It  might  not  be 
entirely  safe  to  presume  too  largely  upon  his  sense  of 
obligation  —  some  persons  are  devoid  of  gratitude — until 
the  money  was  in  hand.  For  these  reasons  Die  was  toler 
ated,  and  during  the  next  ten  days  spent  his  evenings  with 
Rita,  though  mother  and  father  Bays  did  not  migrate  to  the 
kitchen,  in  accordance  with  well-established  usage  on  Blue, 
and  as  they  had  done  when  Williams  came  a-wooing.  Die 
cared  little  for  the  infringement,  and  felt  that  old  times 
had  come  again.  Rita,  growing  bold,  braved  her  mother's 
wrath,  and  continued  each  evening  to  give  him  a  moment 
of  his  own.  One  evening  it  would  be  a  drink  from  the 
well  that  she  wanted.  Again,  it  was  a  gourdful  of  shell- 
barks  from  the  cellar  under  the  kitchen,  whence  she,  of 
course,  was  afraid  to  fetch  them  alone.  The  most  guile 
less  heart  will  grow  adroit  under  certain  well-known  con 
ditions  ;  and  even  Rita,  the  simplest  of  girls,  easily  made 
opportunities  to  give  Die  these  little  moments  from  which 
she  came  back  rosy,  while  that  lucky  young  man  was  far 
from  discontented. 

Rita  paid  each  evening  for  Die's  moment  when  the  door 
closed  on  him,  and  continued  payment  during  the  next  day 
till  his  return.  But  she  considered  the  moment  a  great 
bargain  at  the  price,  continued  her  purchases,  and  paid  the 
bills  on  demand  to  incarnate  Justice.  The  bills  were  heavy, 
and  had  not  Rita  been  encased  by  an  armor  of  trusty  steel, 
wrought  from  the  links  of  her  happiness,  her  soft,  white 


THE   TOURNAMENT  207 

form  would  have  been  pierced  through  and  through  by 
the  tough,  ashen  shafts  of  her  mother's  relentless  cruelty. 
We  are  apt  to  feel  pain  and  suffering  comparatively. 
To  one  who  has  experienced  a  great  agony,  smaller 
troubles  seem  trivial.  Rita  had  experienced  her  great 
agony,  and  her  mother's  thrusts  were  but  needle  pricks 
compared  with  it. 

Arrangements  were  quickly  made  for  moving  to  Indian 
apolis,  and  at  the  end  of  ten  days  all  was  ready  for  the 
money  to  be  delivered.  Die  again  asked  for  Rita,  and  Mr. 
Bays  was  for  delivering  the  girl  at  once.  His  new  venture  at 
Indianapolis  had  stimulated  his  sense  of  self-importance,  and 
he  insisted,  with  a  temerity  never  before  dared,  that  Die, 
whom  he  truly  loved,  should  have  the  daughter  whom  they 
each  loved.  But  the  Chief  Justice  would  agree  to  nothing 
more  than  an  extension  of  the  armistice,  and  graciously 
consented  that  Die  might  visit  the  family  at  Indianapolis 
once  in  a  while. 

After  Die  had  agreed  to  lend  the  money,  he  at  once  noti 
fied  Billy  Little,  in  whose  strong-box  it  was  stored.  Die, 
in  the  course  of  their  conversation,  expressed  to  Billy  the 
sense  of  obligation  he  felt  to  the  Bayses. 

"  I  declare,"  vowed  Billy,  "  that  old  woman  is  truly  great 
When  she  goes  to  heaven,  she  will  convince  St.  Peter  that 
she  is  doing  him  a  favor  by  entering  the  pearly  gates. 
Neither  will  she  go  in  unless  everything  suits  her.  There 
is  not  another  like  her.  Archimedes  said  he  could  lift  the 
world  with  a  lever  if  he  had  a  fulcrum.  Undiluted  egotism 
is  the  fulcrum.  But  one  must  actually  believe  in  one's  self 
to  be  effective.  One  cannot  impose  a  sham  self-faith  upon 
the  world.  Only  the  man  who  believes  his  own  lie  can  lie 
convincingly.  Egad  !  Die,  it  would  have  been  beautiful  to 
see  that  self-sufficient  old  harridan  attempting  to  convince 
you  that  she  was  conferring  a  favor  by  taking  your  money. 


2o8  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

You  will  probably  never  see  a  fippenny  bit  of  it  again. 
And  without  interest !  Jove  !  I  say  it  was  beautiful.  Had 
she  wanted  your  liver,  I  suppose  you  would  have  thanked 
her  for  accepting  it.  She  is  a  wonder." 

These  remarks  opened  Die's  eyes  and  convinced  him 
that  the  New  York  trip  had  not  effaced  all  traces  of 
unsophistication. 

In  those  days  of  weak  strong-boxes  and  numerous  box- 
breakers,  men  hesitated  to  assume  the  responsibility  of  tak 
ing  another's  gold  for  safe-keeping.  There  could  be  no 
profit  to  Billy  Little  in  Die's  gold.  He  took  it  to  keep  for 
him  only  because  he  loved  him.  The  sum  total  of  Billy's 
wealth,  aside  from  his  stock  of  goods  valued  at  a  thousand 
dollars,  consisted  of  notes,  secured  by  mortgages,  amount 
ing  to  four  thousand  dollars.  Of  this  sum  he  had  lent 
five  hundred  dollars  to  Die,  who  had  repaid  him  in  gold. 
The  money  had  been  placed  in  Billy  Little's  strong-box 
with  Die's  twenty-six  hundred  dollars.  Each  sum  of  gold 
was  contained  in  a  canvas  shot-bag.  Of  course  news  of 
Die's  wealth  had  spread  throughout  the  town  and  country, 
and  had  furnished  many  a  pleasant  hour  of  conversation 
among  persons  with  whom  topics  were  scarce. 

Late  one  night  Billy  Little's  slumbers  were  disturbed 
by  a  noise  in  the  store,  and  his  mind  at  once  turned  to  the 
gold.  He  rose  quickly,  seized  his  shot-gun,  and  opened 
the  door  leading  into  the  storeroom  just  in  time  to  see  two 
men  climb  out  through  the  open  window  near  the  post-office 
boxes.  Billy  ran  to  the  window  and  saw  the  men  a  hundred 
yards  away.  He  climbed  out  and  hurried  in  pursuit,  but 
the  men  were  soon  out  of  sight,  and  Billy  returned  shiver 
ing  to  the  store.  He  could  see  by  the  dim  light  from  the 
window  that  the  doors  of  his  strong-box  were  standing 
open.  There  was  no  need  to  examine  the  box.  Billy  well 
knew  the  gold  had  vanished.  He  shut  the  iron  doors  and 
went  back  to  his  room,  poked  the  fire,  seated  himself  at 


THE   TOURNAMENT  209 

the  piano,  and  for  the  next  hour  ran  through  his  favorite 
repertoire,  closing  the  concert  with  "  Annie  Laurie." 
Then  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  like  an  untroubled  child  till 
morning. 

The  safe  had  been  unlocked  by  means  of  a  false  key. 
There  were  no  visible  signs  of  robbery,  and  Billy  Little 
determined  to  tell  no  one  of  his  loss.  The  first  question 
that  confronted  him  in  the  morning  was,  what  should  be 
done  about  the  loss  of  Die's  gold  ?  That  proposition  he 
quickly  settled.  He  went  across  the  road  to  the  inn,  got 
his  breakfast,  returned  to  his  room,  donned  his  broadcloth 
coat,  made  thirty  years  before  in  London,  took  from  his 
strong-box  notes  to  the  amount  of  twenty-six  hundred  dol 
lars,  and  left  for  Indianapolis  by  the  noon  stage.  At 
Indianapolis  he  sold  the  notes  and  brought  back  Die's  gold. 
This  he  kept  in  his  iron  box  during  the  day  and  under  his 
pillow  at  night. 


The  household  effects  of  the  Bays  family  were  placed  in 
two  wagons  to  be  taken  to  Indianapolis.  Die  had  offered 
to  drive  one  team,  and  Tom  was  to  drive  the  other.  Mr. 
Bays  had  preceded  the  family  by  a  day  or  two  ;  but  before 
leaving  he  and  Die  had  gone  to  Billy  Little's  store  for  the 
money.  Die,  of  course,  knew  nothing  of  the  robbery. 
Billy  had  privately  advised  his  young  friend  to  lend  the 
money  payable  on  demand. 

"You  should  buy  a  farm  when  a  good  opportunity 
offers,"  said  he.  "  Land  hereabouts  will  increase  in  value 
a  hundred  per  cent  in  ten  years.  You  should  not  tie  up 
your  money  for  a  long  time." 

Billy  made  the  same  representation  to  Bays,  and  that 
gentleman,  eager  to  get  the  money  on  any  terms,  agreed 
with  him.  Little's  real,  though  unspoken,  reason  was  this  : 
he  felt  that  if  Die  held  a  debt  against  Bays,  collectible 


210  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

upon  demand,  it  would  be  a  protection  against  Mrs.  Mar 
garita's  too  keen  sense  of  justice,  and  might  prove  an 
effective  help  in  winning  Rita  from  the  icy  dragoness. 
Therefore,  the  note  was  drawn  payable  on  demand.  When 
Mrs.  Bays  learned  that  fact,  she  named  over  to  her  spouse 
succinctly  the  various  species  of  fool  of  which  he  was 
the  composite  representative.  The  satisfaction  she  felt  in 
unbosoming  herself  was  her  only  reward,  for  the  note 
remained  collectible  on  demand. 

The  weather  was  very  cold,  and  the  snow-covered  road 
would  be  rough.  So  it  had  been  determined  that  Rita  and 
her  mother  should  travel  to  Indianapolis  by  the  stage 
coach.  But  when  the  wagons  were  ready  to  start,  at  sun 
up,  Mrs.  Bays  being  in  bed,  Rita  basely  deserted  that 
virtuous  woman  and  climbed  over  the  front  wheel  to  the 
seat  beside  Die.  She  left  a  note  for  her  mother,  saying 
that  she  would  go  with  the  wagon  to  save  the  seven  shilling 
stage  fare.  She  knew  she  was  making  a  heavy  purchase 
of  "moments,"  and  was  sure  she  would  be  called  upon 
for  instant  payment  that  night  when  she  should  meet  her 
mother.  She  was  willing  to  pay  the  price,  whatever  it 
might  be,  for  the  chariot  of  Phoebus  would  have  been  a 
poor,  tame  conveyance  compared  with  the  golden  car 
whereon  she  rode. 

The  sun  was  barely  above  the  horizon,  and  the  crisp, 
cold  air  was  filled  with  glittering  frost  dust  when  the 
wagons  crossed  Blue  on  the  ice  at  the  ford  below  Bays's 
barn.  The  horses'  breath  came  from  their  nostrils  like 
steam  from  kettle-spouts,  and  the  tires,  screaming  on  the 
frozen  snow,  seemed  to  laugh  for  joy.  It  would  have  been 
a  sad  moment  for  Rita  had  she  not  been  with  Die ;  but 
with  him  by  her  side  she  did  not  so  much  as  turn  her  head 
for  one  backward  look  upon  the  home  she  was  leaving. 

Die  wore  a  coat  made  from  mink  pelts  which  he  had 
taken  in  the  hunt,  and  he  so  wrapped  and  enveloped  Rita 


THE   TOURNAMENT  211 

in  a  pair  of  soft  bearskin  robes  that  the  cold  could  not 
come  near  her.  He  covered  her  head,  mouth,  nose,  and 
cheeks  with  a  great  fur  cap  of  his  own ;  but  he  left  her 
eyes  exposed,  saying,  "  I  must  be  able  to  see  them,  you 
know."  As  he  fastened  the  curtains  of  the  cap  under  her 
chin,  he  received  a  flashing  answer  from  the  eyes  that 
would  have  warmed  him  had  he  been  clothed  in  gossamer 
and  the  mercury  freezing  in  the  bulb. 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  all  the  plans  that  were  formulated 
upon  that  wagon  while  it  jolted  and  bumped  over  the 
frozen  ruts  of  the  Michigan  road ;  if  I  were  to  write  down 
here  all  the  words  of  hope  and  confidence  in  the  fickle 
future ;  if  I  were  to  tell  you  of  the  glances,  touches,  and 
words  of  love  that  were  given  and  spoken  between  sun-up 
and  sun-down  upon  this  chariot  of  the  gods  —  I  will  say  of 
the  blind  god  —  I  should  never  finish  writing,  nor  would 
you  ever  finish  reading. 

It  was :  — 

"  You  will  write  to  me  every  day  ? " 

"  Yes,  every  day." 

"  You  will  think  of  me  every  day  and  night  ? " 

"  Yes,  Die,  every  moment,  and  — 

"  You  will  come  back  to  me  soon  —  very  soon  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Die,  whenever  you  choose  to  take  me." 

"  And  you  will  be  brave  against  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  brave  as  I  can  be,  for  your  sake,  Die.  But  you 
must  not  forget  that  I  cannot  be  very  brave  long  at  a  time 
without  help  from  you !  Oh,  Die,  how  can  I  bear  to  be 
so  far  away  from  you  ?  I  shall  see  you  only  on  Sundays ; 
a  whole  week  apart !  You  have  never  been  from  me  so 
long  since  I  can  remember  till  you  went  to  New  York.  I 
told  you  trouble  would  come  from  that  trip ;  but  you  will 
come  to  me  Sundays  —  by  Saturday  night's  stage  ?  " 

"  Yes,  every  Sunday." 

"  Surely  ?     You  will  never  fail  me  ?     I  shall  die  of  dis- 


212  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

appointment  if  you  fail  me  once.  All  week  I  shall  live  on 
the  hope  of  Sunday." 

"  I'll  come,  Rita.     You  need  not  fear." 

"  And  Die,  you  will  not  go  often  to  see  Sukey  Yates,  will 
you?" 

"  I'll  not  speak  to  her,  if  you  wish.  She  is  nothing  to 
me.  I'll  not  go  near  her." 

"  No,  I  don't  ask  that.  I  fear  I  am  very  selfish.  You 
will  be  lonely  when  I  am  gone  and  —  and  you  may  go  to  see 
Sukey  —  and  —  and  the  other  girls  once  in  a  while.  But 
you  won't  go  too  often  to  see  Sukey  and  —  and  you  won't 
grow  to  caring  for  her  —  one  bit,  will  you?" 

"  I  will  not  go  at  all." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must ;  I  command  you.  You  would  think 
I  do  not  trust  you  if  I  would  not  let  you  go  at  all.  I  don't 
entirely  trust  her,  though  I  am  sure  I  am  wrong  and  wicked 
to  doubt  her ;  but  I  trust  you,  and  would  trust  you  with  any 
one." 

"  I,  too,  trust  you,  Rita.  It  will  be  impossible  for  you 
to  mistreat  Williams,  associated  as  he  is  with  your  father. 
For  the  sake  of  peace,  treat  him  well,  but  — " 

"  He  shall  never  touch  my  hand,  Die  ;  that  I  swear  !  I 
can't  keep  him  from  coming  to  our  house,  but  it  will  be 
torture  when  I  shall  be  wanting  you.  Oh,  Die  — "  and 
tears  came  before  she  could  take  her  hands  from  under 
the  bearskins  to  cover  her  face.  But  as  I  said,  I  cannot 
tell  you  all  the  plans  and  castles  they  built,  nor  shall  I  try. 

The  wise  man  buildeth  many  castles,  but  he  abideth  not 
therein,  lest  they  crumble  about  his  ears  and  crush  him. 
Castles  built  of  air  often  fall  of  stone.  Therefore,  only 
the  foolish  man  keeps  revel  in  the  great  hall  or  slumbers 
in  the  donjon-keep. 

Early  upon  the  second  Sunday  after  the  Bayses'  advent 
to  Indianapolis,  Die,  disdaining  the  stage,  rode  a-horseback 


THE   TOURNAMENT  213 

and  covered  the  distance  before  noon.  Mr.  Bays  and  Tom 
received  him  with  open  arms.  Rita  would  have  done  like 
wise  in  a  more  literal  sense  could  she  have  had  him  alone 
for  a  moment.  But  you  can  see  her  smiles  and  hear  her  gen 
tle  heart  beats,  even  as  Die  saw  and  heard  them.  A  bunch 
of  cold,  bony  fingers  was  given  to  Die  by  Mother  Justice. 
When  he  arrived  Williams  was  present  awaiting  dinner, 
and  after  Mrs.  Bays  had  given  the  cold  fingers,  she  said  :  — 

"  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  try  to  crowd  another  plate  on 
the  table.  We  didn't  expect  an  extra  guest" 

Rita  endured  without  complaint  her  mother's  thrusts 
when  she  alone  received  them,  but  rebelled  when  Die  was 
attacked.  In  the  kitchen  she  told  her  mother  that  she 
would  insult  Williams  if  Mrs.  Bays  again  insulted  Die. 
The  girl  was  so  frightened  by  her  own  boldness  that  she 
trembled,  and  although  the  mother's  heart  showed  signs  of 
weakness,  there  was  not  time,  owing  to  the  scorching  tur 
key,  for  a  total  collapse.  There  was,  however,  time  for  a 
few  random  biblical  quotations,  and  they  were  almost  as 
effective  as  heart  failure  in  subduing  the  insolent,  disobe 
dient,  ungrateful,  sacrilegious,  wicked  daughter  for  whom 
the  fond  mother  had  toiled  and  suffered  and  endured,  lo ! 
these  many  years. 

When  Rita  and  her  mother  returned  to  the  front  room 
to  invite  the  guests  to  dinner,  Die  thanked  Mrs.  Bays,  and 
said  he  would  go  to  the  tavern.  Rita's  face  at  once  became 
a  picture  of  woe,  but  she  was  proud  of  Die's  spirit,  and 
gloried  in  his  exhibition  of  self-respect.  When  Mrs.  Bays 
saw  that  Die  resented  her  insult,  she  insisted  that  he  should 
remain.  She  said  there  was  plenty  for  all,  and  that  there 
was  more  room  at  the  table  than  she  had  supposed.  But 
Die  took  his  hat  and  started  toward  the  door.  Tom  tried 
to  take  the  hat  from  his  hand,  saying :  — 

"  Nonsense,  Die,  you  will  stay.  You  must,"  and  Mr. 
Bays  said :  — 


214  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"Come,  come,  boy,  don't  be  foolish.  It  has  been  a 
long  time  since  you  took  a  meal  with  us.  It  will  seem 
like  old  times  again.  Put  down  your  hat." 

Die  refused  emphatically,  and  Tom,  taking  up  his  own 
hat,  said :  — 

"  If  Die  goes  to  the  inn,  I  go  with  him.  Mother's  a 
damned  old  fool."  I  wish  I  might  have  heard  the  unduti- 
f  ul  son  speak  those  blessed  words  ! 

Williams  was  delighted  when  Rita  did  not  insist  upon 
Die's  remaining,  but  his  delight  died  ignominiously  when 
the  girl  with  tears  in  her  eyes  took  Die's  hand  before  them 
all  and  said  :  — 

"  Come  back  to  me  soon,  Die.  I  will  be  waiting  for 
you." 

Our  little  girl  is  growing  brave,  but  she  trembles  when 
she  thinks  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

Dinner  was  a  failure.  Mrs.  Bays  thought  only  of  the 
note  payable  on  demand,  and  feared  that  her  offensive 
conduct  to  Die  might  cause  its  instant  maturity.  If  the 
note  had  been  in  her  own  hands  under  similar  circum 
stances,  and  if  she  had  been  in  Die's  place,  she  well  knew 
that  serious  results  would  have  followed.  She  judged  Die 
by  herself,  and  feared  she  had  made  a  mistake. 

There  were  but  two  modes  of  living  in  peace  with  this 
woman  —  even  in  semi-peace.  Domineer  her  coldly,  self 
ishly,  and  cruelly  as  did  Tom,  and  she  would  be  a  worm  ; 
or  submit  to  her  domineering,  be  a  worm  yourself,  and  she 
would  be  a  tyrant.  Those  who  insist  on  domineering 
others  usually  have  their  way.  The  world  is  too  good- 
natured  and  too  lazy  to  combat  them.  Fight  them  with 
their  own  weapons,  and  they  become  an  easy  prey.  Tom 
was  his  mother's  own  son.  He  domineered  her,  his  father, 
and  Rita ;  but,  like  his  mother,  his  domineering  was  in 
flicted  only  upon  'those  whose  love  for  him  made  them 
unresisting. 


THE   TOURNAMENT  215 

But  I  have  wandered  from  the  dinner.  Rita  sat  by  Will 
iams,  but  she  did  not  eat,  and  vouchsafed  to  him  only  such 
words  as  were  absolutely  necessary  to  answer  direct  ques 
tions. 

Williams  was  a  handsome  fellow,  and  many  girls  would 
have  been  glad  to  answer  his  questions  volubly.  He,  like 
Mrs.  Bays,  was  of  a  domineering  nature,  and  clung  to  a 
purpose  once  formed  with  the  combative  tenacity  of  a 
bull-dog  or  the  cringing  persistency  of  a  hound.  Success 
in  all  his  undertakings  was  his  object,  and  he  cared  little 
about  the  means  to  desired  ends.  Such  a  man  usually 
attains  his  end ;  among  other  consummations,  he  is  apt 
to  marry  a  rare,  beautiful  girl  who  hates  him. 

"  Die  is  like  a  brother  to  Rita,"  said  Mrs.  Bays,  in 
explanation  of  her  daughter's  conduct.  "  Her  actions  may 
seem  peculiar  to  a  stranger,  but  she  could  only  feel  for 
him  the  affection  she  might  give  to  a  brother." 

"  Brother  !  "  exclaimed  Rita,  in  accent  of  contempt, 
though  she  did  not  look  up  from  her  plate.  The  young 
lady  was  growing  rebellious.  Wait  for  the  reckoning, 
girl !  Rita's  red  flag  of  rebellion  silenced  Mrs.  Bays  for 
the  time  being,  and  she  attempted  no  further  explanations. 

Poor  father  Bays  could  think  of  nothing  but  Die  eating 
dinner  at  the  tavern.  Rita  trembled  in  rebellion,  and  was 
silent.  After  a  time  the  general  chilliness  penetrated 
even  Williams's  coat  of  polish,  and  only  the  clinking  of  the 
knives  and  forks  broke  the  uncomfortable  stillness.  Die 
was  well  avenged. 

Soon  after  dinner  Tom  and  Die  returned.  Tom  went 
to  the  kitchen,  and  his  mother  said  :  — 

"  Tom,  my  son,  your  words  grieved  me,  and  I  —  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  answered  De  Triflin'.  "  Your  heart'll 
bust  if  you  talk  too  much.  Do  you  want  to  make  Die  sue 
us  for  the  money  we  owe  him,  and  throw  us  out  of  business  ? 
Don't  you  know  we  would  have  to  go  back  to  Blue  if  Die 


216  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

asked  for  his  money  ?     If  you  hain't  got  any  sense,  you 
ought  to  keep  your  mouth  shut." 

"  Tom,  you  should  be  ashamed,"  said  Rita,  looking  re 
proachfully  at  her  brother. 

"  You  shut  up  too,"  answered  Tom.  "  Go  in  and  talk 
to  your  two  beaux.  God  !  but  you're  popular.  How  are 
you  going  to  manage  them  to-night  ?  " 

That  question  had  presented  itself  before,  and  Rita  had 
not  been  able  to  answer  it. 

After  Mrs.  Bays  had  gone  from  the  kitchen,  Tom  re 
peated  his  question  :  — 

"  How  will  you  manage  them  to-night,  Sis  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Rita,  almost  weeping.  "  I 
suppose  Die  will  go  away.  He  has  more  pride  than  — 
than  the  other.  I  suppose  Mr.  Williams  will  stay.  Tom, 
if  you  find  an  opportunity,  I  want  you  to  tell  Die  to  stay  — 
tell  him  I  want  him  to  stay.  He  must  stay  with  me  until 
Williams  goes,  even  if  it  is  all  night.  Please  do  this  for 
me,  brother,  and  I'll  do  anything  for  you  that  you  ask  — 
I  always  do." 

But  Tom  laughed,  and  said,  "No,  I'll  not  mix  in.  I  like 
Die;  but,  Sis,  you're  a  fool  if  you'  don't  take  Williams.  The 
Tousy  girls  would  jump  at  him.  They  were  at  the  tavern, 
and  laughed  at  Die's  country  ways." 

Tom  lied  about  the  Tousy  girls.  They  were  splendid 
girls,  and  their  laughter  had  not  been  at  Die's  country 
ways.  In  fact,  the  eldest  Miss  Tousy  had  asked  Tom  the 
name  of  his  handsome  friend. 

Tom  left  Rita,  and  her  tears  fell  unheeded  as  she 
finished  the  after-dinner  work.  For  ten  days  she  had 
looked  forward  to  this  Sunday,  and  after  its  tardy  arrival 
it  was  full  of  grief,  despite  her  joy  at  seeing  Die. 

At  two  o'clock  Williams  left,  and  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon  richly  compensated  the  girl  for  her  earlier 
troubles.  Tom  went  out,  and  about  four  o'clock  Mr.  Bays 


THE   TOURNAMENT  217 

went  for  a  walk  while  Justice  was  sleeping  upstairs.  Dur 
ing  the  father's  absence,  Die  and  Rita  had  a  delightful  half 
hour  to  themselves,  during  which  her  tongue  made  ample 
amends  for  its  recent  silence,  and  talked  such  music  to  Die 
as  he  had  never  before  heard.  She  had,  during  the  past 
ten  days,  made  memoranda  of  the  subjects  upon  which  she 
wished  to  speak,  fearing,  with  good  reason,  that  she  would 
forget  them  all,  in  the  whirl  of  her  joy,  if  she  trusted  to 
memory.  So  the  memoranda  were  brought  from  a  pocket, 
and  the  subjects  taken  up  in  turn.  To  Die  that  half  hour 
was  well  worth  the  ride  to  Indianapolis  and  home  again. 
To  her  it  was  worth  ten  times  ten  days  of  waiting,  and  the 
morning  with  its  wretched  dinner  was  forgotten. 

Mrs.  Margarita,  stricken  by  Tom's  words,  had  been 
thinking  all  the  afternoon  of  the  note  payable  on  demand, 
and  had  grown  to  fear  the  consequences  of  her  conduct  at 
dinner-time.  She  had  hardly  grown  out  of  the  feeling 
that  Die  was  a  boy,  but  his  prompt  resentment  of  her  cold 
reception  awakened  her  to  the  fact  that  he  might  soon 
become  a  dangerous  man.  Rita's  show  of  rebellion  also 
had  an  ominous  look.  She  was  nearing  the  dangerous  age 
of  eighteen  and  could  soon  marry  whom  she  chose.  Die 
might  carry  her  off,  despite  the  watchfulness  of  open-eyed 
Justice,  and  cause  trouble  with  the  note  her  husband  had  so 
foolishly  given.  All  these  considerations  moved  Margarita, 
the  elder,  to  gentleness,  and  when  she  came  downstairs  she 
said :  — 

"  Die,  I  am  surprised  and  deeply  hurt.  We  always  treat 
you  without  ceremony,  as  one  of  the  family,  and  I  didn't 
mean  that  I  didn't  want  you  to  stay  for  dinner.  I  did  want 
you,  and  you  must  stay  for  supper." 

Die's  first  impulse  was  to  refuse  the  invitation  ;  but  the 
pleading  in  Rita's  eyes  was  more  than  he  could  resist,  and 
he  remained. 

How  different  was  the  supper  from  the  dinner !     Rita 


2i8  A    FOREST   HEARTH 

was  as  talkative  as  one  could  ask  a  girl  to  be,  and  Mrs. 
Bays  would  have  referred  to  the  relative  virtues  of  hearing 
and  seeing  girls,  had  she  not  been  in  temporary  fear  of  the 
demand  note.  Tom  was  out  for  supper  with  Williams. 
Mr.  Bays  told  all  he  knew ;  and  even  the  icy  dragoness, 
thawed  by  the  genial  warmth,  unbent  to  as  great  a  degree 
as  the  daughter  of  Judge  Anselm  Fisher  might  with  pro 
priety  unbend,  and  was  actually  pleasant  —  for  her.  After 
supper  Die  insisted  that  Mrs.  Bays  should  go  to  the  front 
room,  and  that  he  should  be  allowed,  as  in  olden  times, 
when  he  was  a  boy,  to  assist  Rita  in  "  doing  up  "  the  after- 
supper  work.  So  he,  wearing  an  apron,  stood  laughingly 
by  Rita's  side  drying  the  dishes  while  she  washed  them. 
There  were  not  enough  dishes  by  many  thousand,  and 
when  the  paltry  few  before  them  had  been  dried  and  placed 
in  a  large  pan,  Die,  while  Rita's  back  was  turned,  poured 
water  over  them,  and,  of  course,  they  all  had  to  be  dried 
again.  Rita  laughed,  and  began  her  task  anew. 

"Who  would  have  thought,"  she  whispered,  shrugging 
her  shoulders,  "that  washing  dishes  could  be  such  pleasant 
work." 

Die  acknowledged  his  previous  ignorance  on  the  subject. 
He  was  for  interrupting  the  work  semi-occasionally,  but 
when  the  interruptions  became  too  frequent,  she  would 
say :  "  Don't,  Die,"  and  laughingly  push  him  away.  She 
was  not  miserly.  She  was  simply  frugal,  and  Die  had  no 
good  reason  to  complain.  After  every  dish  had  been 
washed  and  dried  many  times,  Rita  started  toward  her 
torture  chamber,  the  front  room. 

At  the  door  she  whispered  to  Die  :  — 

"  Mr.  — that  man  is  in  there.  He  will  remain  all  even 
ing,  and  I  want  you  to  stay  till  he  goes." 

"  Very  well,"  responded  Die.  "  I  don't  like  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  if  you  wish,  I'll  stay  till  morning  rather  than 
leave  him  with  you." 


THE   TOURNAMENT  219 

Williams  was  on  hand,  and  as  a  result  Rita  had  no  words 
for  any  one.  There  was  no  glorious  fireplace  in  the  room, 
and  consequently  no  cosey  ciphering  log.  In  its  place  was 
an  iron  stove,  which,  according  to  Rita,  made  the  atmos 
phere  "stuffy." 

Toward  nine  o'clock  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bays  retired,  and  the 
"sitting-out"  tournament  began.  The  most  courteous 
politeness  was  assumed  by  the  belligerent  forces,  in  accord 
ance  with  established  custom  in  all  tournaments. 

The  great  clock  in  the  corner  struck  ten,  eleven,  and 
twelve  o'clock.  Still  the  champions  were  as  fresh  as  they 
had  been  at  nine.  No  one  could  foretell  the  victor,  though 
any  one  could  easily  have  pointed  out  the  poor  victim. 
After  ten  o'clock  the  conversation  was  conducted  almost 
entirely  by  Williams  and  Die,  with  a  low  monosyllable 
now  and  then  from  Rita  when  addressed.  She,  poor  girl, 
was  too  sleepy  to  talk,  even  to  Die.  Soon  after  twelve 
o'clock  the  knight  from  Blue,  pitying  her,  showed  signs  of 
surrender ;  but  she  at  once  awoke  and  mutely  gave  him  to 
understand  that  she  would  hold  him  craven  should  he  lower 
his  lance  point  while  life  lasted.  The  clock  struck  one. 

The  champions  had  exhausted  all  modern  topics  and 
were  beginning  on  old  Rome.  Die  wondered  what  would 
be  the  hour  when  they  should  reach  Greece  and  Egypt  in 
their  backward  flight.  But  after  the  downfall  of  Rome, 
near  the  hour  of  two,  Sir  Roger  was  unhorsed,  and  went 
off  to  his  castle  and  to  bed.  Then  Rita  bade  Die  good-by, 
after  exacting  from  him  a  solemn  promise  to  return  the 
next  Sunday. 

Rita  thought  Die's  victory  was  a  good  omen,  and  drew 
much  comfort  from  it.  She  tried  to  lie  awake  to  nurse  her 
joy,  but  her  eyes  were  so  heavy  that  she  fell  asleep  in  the 
midst  of  her  prayer. 

Die  saddled  his  horse  and  started  home.  The  sharp, 
crisp  air  was  delicious.  The  starlit  sky  was  a  canopy  of 


220  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

never  ceasing  beauty,  and  the  song  in  his  heart  was  the 
ever  sweet  song  of  hope.  The  four  hours'  ride  seemed 
little  more  than  a  journey  of  as  many  minutes ;  and  when 
he  stabled  his  horse  at  home,  just  as  the  east  was  turning 
gray  and  the  sun-blinded  stars  were  blinking,  he  said  to 
himself :  — 

"  A  fifty-two-mile  ride  and  twenty-four  hours  of  happi 
ness, —  anticipation,  realization,  and  memory,  —  cheap  !  " 

He  slept  for  two  or  three  hours  and  hunted  all  day  long. 
Tuesday's  stage  brought  a  letter  from  Rita,  and  it  is  need 
less  to  speak  of  its  electrifying  effect  on  Die.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  "I"  and  "me"  and  "you"  in  the  letter, 
together  with  frequent  repetitions ;.  but  tautology,  under 
proper  conditions,  may  have  beauties  of  its  own,  not  at  all 
to  be  despised. 

Die  went  to  town  Tuesday  evening  and  sat  before  Billy 
Little's  fire  till  ten  o'clock,  telling  our  worthy  little  friend 
of  recent  events.  They  both  laughed  over  the  "  sitting- 
out"  tournament. 

"  It  begins  to  look  as  if  you  would  get  her,"  remarked 
Billy,  leaning  forward  in  his  chair  and  resting  his  elbows 
on  his  knees.  He  was  intensely  jealous  of  Williams,  and 
was  eager  to  help  Die  in  any  manner  possible. 

"I  hope  you  are  right,  Billy  Little,"  replied  Die. 
"  When  persons  agree  as  do  Rita  and  I,  there  should  be  a 
law  against  outside  interference." 

"There  is  such  a  law,"  answered  Billy — "  God's  law,  but 
most  persons  have  greater  respect  for  a  legislative  statute." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  religious,"  said  Die. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Every  man  with  any  good  in  him  is 
religious.  One  doesn't  have  to  be  a  Methodist,  a  Baptist, 
or  a  Roman  Catholic  to  be  religious.  But  bless  my  soul, 
Die,  I  don't  want  to  preach."  He  leaned  forward  looking 
into  the  fire,  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and,  as  usual, 
hummed  Maxwelton's  braes. 


THE   TOURNAMENT  221 

"  If  Rita  were  a  different  girl,  my  task  would  be  easier," 
observed  Die.  "  She  is  too  tender-hearted  and  affectionate 
to  see  faults  in  any  one  who  is  near  to  her.  Notwithstand 
ing  her  mother's  cruelty  and  hypocrisy,  Rita  loves  her 
passionately  and  believes  she  is  the  best  and  greatest  of 
women.  She  stands  in  fear  of  her,  too,  and  when  the  dia 
bolical  old  fiend  quotes  Scripture,  no  matter  how  irrele 
vantly,  or  has  heart  trouble,  the  girl  loses  self-control  and 
would  give  up  her  life  if  her  mother  wanted  it.  Rita  is  a 
coward,  too ;  but  that  is  a  sweet  fault  in  a  woman,  and  I 
would  not  have  her  different  in  any  respect.  I  believe 
Mrs.  Bays  has  greater  respect  for  me  since  I  lent  the 
money.  I  could  see  the  good  effect  immediately." 

"  Her  respect  would  not  have  been  so  perceptible  had 
you  taken  a  note  payable  in  one  or  two  years.  Hold  that 
demand  note  as  a  club  over  the  old  woman,  and  perhaps 
you  will  get  the  girl." 

"  Was  that  your  reason  for  advising  me  to  take  the  note 
payable  on  demand  ?  "  asked  Die. 

"  It  was  one  of  my  reasons  —  perhaps  the  chief  one." 

"  Then  I'll  write  to  Mr.  Bays  asking  him  to  draw  a  new 
note  payable  in  two  years,"  said  Die. 

Billy  took  a  small  piece  of  paper,  wrote  a  line  or  two,  and 
handed  it  to  Die,  saying  :  — 

"  Sign  this  and  deliver  it  to  Williams  when  you  take 
Bays's  note  due  in  two  years." 

The  slip  read,  "  Pay  on  demand  to  Roger  Williams, 
Esq.,  one  Rita  Bays." 

Die  laughed  nervously,  and  said :  "  I  guess  you're  right, 
as  usual.  After  all,  it  is  a  shame  that  I  should  take  her  to 
my  poor  log-cabin  when  she  might  have  a  mansion  in  Bos 
ton  and  all  that  money  can  buy.  If  I  were  an  unselfish 
man,  I  should  release  my  claims  to  her."  A  silence  of 
several  moments  ensued,  during  which  Billy  drew  the 
leather  trunk  from  under  the  bed  and  took  a  fresh  letter 


222  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

from  the  musty  package  we  have  already  seen.  He  drew 
his  chair  near  to  the  candle,  slipped  the  letter  from  its 
envelope,  and  slowly  read  its  four  pages  to  himself.  After 
gazing  at  the  fire  for  several  minutes  in  meditation  he 
said :  — 

"I  received  a  Christmas  gift,  Die.  It  came  from  Eng 
land.  I  got  it  this  morning.  It  is  the  miniature  of  an 
old  friend.  I  have  not  seen  or  heard  from  her  in  thirty 
years.  I  also  have  a  letter.  If  you  wish,  you  may  be 
the  only  person  in  all  the  world,  save  myself,  to  read 
it." 

"  Indeed,  I'll  be  glad  —  if  you  wish  me  to  read  it.  You 
know  I  am  deeply  interested  in  all  that  touches  you." 

"  I  believe  I  know,"  answered  Billy,  handing  him  the 
letter  across  the  table.  Die  read  to  himself :  — 

,  ENGLAND,  18 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND  :  Each  Christmas  day  for  many  years 
have  I  written  a  letter  to  you,  but  none  of  them  have  ever 
been  seen  by  any  eyes  save  my  own.  I  have  always  in 
tended  sending  them  to  you,  but  my  courage  upon  each 
occasion  has  failed  me,  and  none  of  them  has  ever  reached 
you.  This  one  I  mean  to  send.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  do 
so  ?  How  many  years  is  it,  my  friend,  since  that  day,  so 
full  of  pain,  —  ah,  so  full  of  pain,  —  when  I  returned  the 
ring  you  had  given  me,  and  you  released  me  to  another. 
In  your  letter  you  made  pretence  that  you  did  not  suffer, 
knowing  that  I  would  suffer  for  the  sake  of  your  pain. 
But  you  did  not  deceive  me.  I  knew  then,  as  I  know  now, 
that  you  released  me  because  you  supposed  the  position 
and  wealth  which  were  offered  me  would  bring  happiness. 
But,  my  friend,  that  was  a  mistaken  generosity.  Life  has 
been  rich  in  many  ways.  I  have  wealth  and  exalted  posi 
tion,  and  am  honored  and  envied  by  many.  My  husband 
is  a  good,  kind  man.  I  have  no  children  and  am  thankful 


THE    TOURNAMENT  223 

in  lacking  them.  A  woman  willingly  bears  children  only 
for  the  man  she  loves.  But,  oh,  my  friend,  the  weariness 
that  never  ceases,  the  yearning  that  never  stops,  the  dull 
pain  that  never  really  eases,  have  turned  me  gray,  and  I 
am  old  before  my  time.  I  fear  the  longing  and  the  pain 
are  sinful,  and  nightly  I  pray  God  to  take  them  from  my 
heart.  At  times  He  answers,  in  a  degree,  my  prayers,  and 
I  almost  forget ;  but  again,  He  forsakes  me,  and  at  those 
moments  my  burden  seems  heavier  than  I  can  bear.  One 
may  easily  endure  if  one  has  a  bright  past  or  a  happy 
future  to  look  upon.  One  may  live  over  and  over  again 
one's  past  joys,  or  may  draw  upon  a  hopeful  future ;  but 
a  dead,  ashen  past,  a  barren  present,  and  a  hopeless  future 
bring  us  at  times  to  rebellion  against  an  all-wise  God 
because  He  has  given  us  life.  Time  is  said  to  heal  all 
wounds ;  but  it  has  failed  with  me,  and  they,  I  fear,  will 
ache  so  long  as  I  live.  I  suppose  you,  too,  are  old,  though 
you  will  always  be  young  to  me,  and  doubtless  the  snow  is 
also  in  your  hair.  I,  sinful  one  that  I  am,  send  you  with 
this  letter,  my  miniature  and  a  lock  of  my  hair,  that  you 
may  realize  the  great  change  that  has  been  wrought  in  me 
by  time.  This  letter  I  surely  will  post.  May  it  take  to 
you  in  the  wilderness  a  part  of  my  wretchedness,  for  so 
selfish  am  I  that  I  would  take  comfort  in  knowing  that 
I  do  not  suffer  alone.  I  retract  the  last  sentence  and  in 
its  place  ask,  not  that  you  suffer,  but  that  you  do  not 
forget.  In  health  I  am  blessed  beyond  my  deserts,  and  I 
hope  the  same  comfort  abides  with  you.  You  will  hear 
from  me  never  again.  I  have  allowed  myself  this  one 
delightful  moment  of  sin,  and  God,  I  know,  will  give  me 
strength  against  another.  I  wish  you  all  the  good  that  one 
human  being  can  wish  another. 

"  Regretfully,  fondly,  farewell. 

"  RITA." 


224  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Die,  almost  in  tears,  returned  the  letter  to  Billy  Little, 
and  that  worthy  man,  wishing  to  rob  the  scene  of  its  sen 
timentality,  said  :  — 

"  She  says  she  supposes  my  hair  is  gray !  She  doesn't 
know  I  am  as  bald  as  a  gourd.  Here  is  her  miniature.  I'll 
not  send  her  mine;  she  might. laugh." 

Die  took  the  picture  and  saw  a  sweet,  tender  face,  fringed 
by  white  curls,  and  aglow  with  soft,  brown  eyes. 

"  Do  you  see  a  resemblance  in  the  miniature  to  —  to  any 
one  you  know  ? "  asked  Billy  Little. 

"  By  George !  "  exclaimed  Die,  holding  the  picture  at  arm's 
length,  "  Rita  —  her  mouth,  her  eyes ;  the  same  name,  too," 
and  he  kissed  the  miniature  rapturously. 

"  Look  here,  young  fellow,"  cried  Billy  Little.  "  Hand 
me  that  miniature.  You  shan't  be  kissing  all  my  female 
friends.  By  Jove !  if  she  were  to  come  over  here,  I'd 
drive  you  out  of  the  settlement  with  a  shot-gun,  'deed  if  I 
wouldn't.  Now  you  will  probably  change  your  mind  about 
unselfishly  surrendering  Rita  to  Williams.  I  tell  you,  Die, 
a  fool  conscience  is  more  to  be  dreaded  than  a  knavish 
heart." 

"  You  are  always  right,  Billy  Little,  though,  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  had  no  intention  whatever  of  surrendering  Rita 
to  any  one,"  returned  Die. 

"  I  know  you  hadn't.  Of  course  I  knew  you  could  not 
even  have  spoken  about  it  had  you  any  thought  that  it 
might  be  possible." 


A    KISS   AND   A    DUEL 


CHAPTER   XI 
A  Kiss  AND  A  DUEL 

1  SHALL  not  attempt  to  give  you  an  account  of 
Die's  numerous  journeyings  to  Indianapolis.  With 
no  abatement  in  affection,  the  period  of  his  visits 
changed  from  weekly  to  fortnightly,  and  then  to  monthly. 
Meantime,  Williams  was  adroitly  plying  his  suit ;  and  by 
convincing  Rita  that  he  had  abandoned  the  role  of  lover 
for  that  of  friend,  he  succeeded  in  regaining  her  confi 
dence.  As  agent  for  his  father's  products,  he  had  an 
office  at  Indianapolis,  and  large  sums  of  money  passed 
through  his  hands.  He  and  Tom  became  great  cronies, 
for  it  was  Williams's  intention  to  leave  no  stone  unturned, 
the  turning  of  which  might  assist  him  in  winning  Rita. 
His  passion  for  the  girl  became  almost  desperate  at  times, 
and  her  unmistakable  coldness  added  fuel  to  the  flame. 
He  well  knew  she  did  not  love  him ;  but,  like  many  an 
other  mistaken  man,  he  believed  he  could  teach  her  that 
great  lesson  if  she  were  his  wife,  and  could  not  believe  that 
she  entertained  either  a  serious  or  a  lasting  sentiment  for 
so  inferior  a  person  as  Diccon  Bright.  Williams  had  inva 
riably  found  smooth  sailing  with  other  young  ladies ;  and 
head  winds  in  Rita's  case  caused  the  harbor  to  appear 
fairer  than  any  other  for  which  he  had  ever  trimmed  his 
sails. 

Soon  after  Rita's  entrance  into  Indianapolis  society  she 
became  popular  with  the  fair  sex  and  admired  of  the  un 
fair;  that  condition,  in  my  opinion,  being  an  unusual  tri- 

227 


228  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

umph  for  any  young  woman.  To  that  end  Williams  was 
of  great  assistance.  A  rich,  cultured  society  man  of  Bos 
ton  was  sure  to  cut  a  great  figure  among  the  belles  and 
mothers  of  a  small  frontier  town.  The  girl  whom  Will 
iams  delighted  to  honor  necessarily  assumed  importance 
in  the  eyes  of  her  sisters.  In  most  cases  they  would  have 
disliked  her  secretly  in  direct  ratio  to  the  cube  of  their  out 
ward  respect ;  but  Rita  was  so  gentle  and  her  beauty  was 
so  exquisite,  yet  unassertive,  that  the  girl  soon  numbered 
among  her  friends  all  who  knew  her.  There  were  the 
Tousy  and  the  Peasly  girls,  the  Wright  girls  and  the  Mor 
risons,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Smiths,  Browns,  and  Joneses, 
many  of  whom  were  the  daughters  of  cultured  parents. 
If  any  one  nowadays  believes  that  Indianapolis  —  little 
spot  in  the  wilderness  though  it  was  —  lacked  refined 
society  during  the  thirties,  he  is  much  mistaken.  Ser 
vants  were  scarce,  and  young  ladies  of  cultured  homes 
might  any  day  be  called  upon  to  cook  the  dinner  or  the 
supper,  and  afterward  to  "  do  up "  the  work ;  but  they 
could  leave  the  kitchen  after  preparing  a  good  meal,  walk 
into  the  parlor  and  play  Beethoven  and  Mozart  with  credit 
to  themselves  and  their  instructors,  and  pleasure  to  their 
audience.  They  could  leave  the  piano  and  discuss  Shake 
speare,  Addison,  Dick  Steele,  Provost,  and  Richardson ; 
and,  being  part  of  the  immutable  feminine,  could  also  dis 
cuss  their  neighbors  upon  occasion,  and  speak  earnestly 
upon  the  serious  subject  of  frocks  and  frills.  As  to  beauty 
—  but  that  is  a  benediction  granted  to  all  times  and  places, 
creating  more  or  less  trouble  everywhere. 

The  Tousy  girls,  having  wealth,  beauty,  and  numbers  — 
there  were  five  of  them,  ranging  in  years  from  fifteen  to 
twenty-five  —  led  the  social  march  ;  and  they  at  once  placed 
the  stamp  of  unqualified  approval  upon  our  little  country 
girl  from  Blue.  The  eldest  of  the  Tousy  brood  was,  of 
course,  Miss  Tousy ;  then  came  Sue,  Kate,  and  the  others, 


A    KISS   AND    A   DUEL  229 

both  of  whom,  naturally,  had  names  of  their  own.  Miss 
Tousy  will  soon  make  her  appearance  again  in  these  pages 
for  a  short  time.  Her  own  romance  I  should  like  to  tell 
you  some  day. 

The  firm  of  Fisher  and  Fox  thrived  famously  during  the 
first  few  months  of  their  partnership,  and  that  Tom  might 
not  be  ashamed  of  Rita  when  in  society,  Mrs.  Bays  con 
sented  that  she  should  have  some  new  gowns,  hats,  and 
wraps.  All  this  fine  raiment  pleased  Die  for  Rita's  sake, 
and  troubled  him  for  his  own. 

The  first  he  saw  of  the  new  gowns  was  on  a  certain  bright 
Sunday  afternoon  in  spring.  Rita's  heart  had  been  divided 
between  two  desires :  she  longed  to  tell  Die  in  her  letters 
of  her  beautiful  new  gowns,  but  she  also  wished  to  surprise 
him.  By  a  masterful  effort  she  took  the  latter  course,  and 
coming  downstairs  after  dinner  upon  the  Sunday  mentioned 
she  burst  suddenly  upon  Die  in  all  her  splendor.  Her  de 
light  was  so  intense  that  she  could  not  close  her  lips  for 
smiling,  and  Die  was  fairly  stunned  by  her  grandeur  and 
beauty.  She  turned  this  way  and  that,  directing  him  to 
observe  the  beautiful  tints  and  the  fashionable  cut.  of  her 
garments,  and  asked  him  if  the  bonnet  with  its  enormous 
"  poke,"  filled  with  monster  roses,  was  not  a  thing  of  beauty 
and  a  joy  so  long  as  it  should  last.  Die  agreed  with  her, 
and  told  her  with  truth  that  he  had  never  seen  a  fashion 
so  sweet  and  winsome.  Then  he  received  his  reward,  after 
being  cautioned  not  to  disturb  the  bonnet,  and  they  started 
out  for  a  walk  in  the  sunshine. 

Die's  garments  were  good  enough,  —  he  had  bought  them 
in  New  York,  —  but  Rita's  outfit  made  his  clothes  look  poor 
and  rusty.  Ever  since  her  residence  in  Indianapolis  he  had 
felt  the  girl  slipping  away  from  him,  and  this  new  depar 
ture  in  the  matter  of  dress  seemed  to  be  a  further  departure 
in  the  matter  of  Rita.  In  that  conclusion  he  was  wrong. 


230  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

The  girl  had  been  growing  nearer  to  him  day  by  day.  Her 
heart  belonged  to  him  more  entirely  than  it  had  even  on 
the  banks  of  Blue,  and  she  longed  for  the  sycamore  divan 
and  the  royal  canopy  of  elm.  Still,  she  loved  her  pretty 
gowns. 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  of  you,"  said  Die,  when  he  had 
closed  the  gate  and  was  taking  his  place  beside  her  for  the 
walk. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Rita,  delightedly.  Her  heart  was  full  of 
the  spring  and  Die ;  what  more  could  she  desire  ? 

"  Your  gown,  your  bonnet,  your  dainty  shoes,  your  gloves, 
your  beauty,  all  frighten  me,"  said  Die.  "  I  can't  believe 
they  belong  to  me.  I  can't  realize  they  are  mine." 

"  But  they  are,"  she  said,  flashing  up  to  him  a  laughing 
glance  from  her  eyes.  "  My  new  gown  should  not  frighten 
you." 

"But it  does,"  he  returned,  "and  you,  too." 

"  I  am  glad  if  I  frighten  you,"  she  answered,  while  lacing 
her  gloves.  "I  have  been  afraid  of  you  long  enough.  It 
is  your  turn  now." 

"  You  have  been  afraid  of  me  ?"  asked  Die  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  she  returned  quite  seriously.  "  I  have  always 
been  slightly  afraid  of  you,  and  I  hope  I  always  shall  be. 
The  night  of  Scott's  social  I  was  simply  frightened  to 
death,  and  before  that  night  for  a  long,  long  time  I  was  in 
constant  fear  of  you.  I  was  afraid  you  would  speak  of  — 
you  know  —  and  I  was  afraid  you  would  not.  I  did  not 
know  what  terrible  catastrophe  would  happen  if  you  did 
speak,  and  I  did  not  know  what  would  happen  to  me  if  you 
did  not.  So  you  see  I  have  always  been  afraid  of  you," 
she  said  laughingly. 

"Why,  Rita,  I  would  not  harm  a  hair  of  your  head." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  did  not  fear  you  in  that  way.  You 
are  so  strong  and  big  and  masterful ;  that  is  what  frightens 
me.  Perhaps  I  enjoy  fearing  you  just  a  bit." 


A    KISS   AND   A   DUEL  231 

"  But  you  are  so  much  grander  than  I,"  returned  Die, 
"  that  you  seem  to  be  farther  from  me  than  ever  before." 

"  Farther?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  you  seem  to  be  drifting  from  me  ever  since  you 
came  to  Indianapolis,"  he  returned. 

"  Ah,  Die,  I  have  been  feeling  just  the  reverse,"  and  her 
eyes  opened  wide  as  she  looked  into  his  without  faltering. 
There  was  not  a  thought  in  all  their  gentle  depths  she 
would  not  gladly  have  him  know.  A  short  silence  ensued, 
during  which  she  was  thinking  rapidly,  and  her  thoughts 
produced  these  remarkable  words  :  — 

"You  should  have  taken  me  long  ago."  Die  wondered 
how  he  might  have  taken  her ;  but  failing  to  discover  any 
mistake,  he  went  on  :  — 

"  I  am  going  to  New  York  again  this  spring  and,  —  and 
you  will  be  past  eighteen  when  I  return.  You  can  then 
marry  me  without  your  mother's  consent,  if  you  will.  Will 
you  go  home  with  me  when  I  return  ?  " 

The  eyes  and  the  face  were  bent  toward  the  ground, 
but  the  lips  whispered  distinctly,  "Yes,  Die,"  and  that 
young  man  bitterly  regretted  the  publicity  of  their 
situation. 

Soon  our  strollers  met  other  young  persons,  and  Die 
was  presented.  All  were  dressed  in  holiday  attire,  and 
the  young  man  from  Blue  felt  that  his  companion  and  her 
friends  outshone  him  completely.  Rita  was  proud  of  him, 
and  said  as  much  in  reply  to  Die's  remark  when  they 
resumed  their  walk. 

"  You  might  come  to  see  me  during  the  week,  when  the 
stores  are  open,"  she  said,  "and  you  might  buy  one  of 
the  new-fashioned  hats.  If  you  can  afford  it,  you  might 
order  a  long  coat  for  Sunday.  Polished  shoes  would 
look  well,  too ;  but  I  am  satisfied  with  you  as  you  are. 
I  only  suggest  these  purchases  because  you  seem  to  feel 
uncomfortable." 


232  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

After  Rita's  suggestion  he  "did  feel  uncomfortable.  He 
had  earned  no  money  since  his  return  from  New  York, 
and  Rita's  fine  feathers  had  been  purchased  by  the  pro 
ceeds  of  his  twenty-six  hundred  dollars  invested  in  her 
father's  business.  Therefore,  hat,  coat,  and  shoes  were 
not  within  his  reach  unless  he  should  go  into  debt,  and 
that  he  had  no  thought  of  doing. 

With  her  husband's  increasing  prosperity,  Mrs.  Bays 
grew  ever  more  distant  in  her  manner  toward  Die.  Rita, 
having  once  learned  that  rebellion  did  not  result  in  instant 
death  to  her  or  to  her  parent,  had  taken  courage,  and  gov 
erned  her  treatment  of  Williams  by  her  mother's  conduct 
toward  Die.  Therefore  Justice,  though  stern,  was  never 
insulting. 

After  Rita's  suggestion  bearing  upon  the  coat,  Die, 
though  ardently  desiring  to  see  her,  dreaded  to  go  to  Indi 
anapolis,  and  at  that  time  his  visits  became  monthly,  much 
to  Rita's  grief.  She  complained  in  her  letters,  and  her 
gentle  reproaches  were  pathetic  and  painful  to  Die. 

Tom  frequently  visited  the  old  home,  and,  incidentally, 
Sukey  Yates,  upon  whom  his  city  manner  and  fashionable 
attire  made  a  tremendous  impression.  Returning  home 
from  his  visits  to  Sukey,  Tom  frequently  spoke  signifi 
cantly  of  Die's  visits  to  that  young  lady's  ciphering  log, 
and  Rita  winced  at  her  brother's  words,  but  said  nothing. 
Miss  Yates  probably  multiplied  the  number  of  Die's  visits 
by  two  or  more  in  speaking  of  them  to  Tom,  having  in 
mind  the  double  purpose  of  producing  an  effect  upon 
that  young  man  and  also  upon  his  sister.  But  there  was 
too  much  truth  in  her  boasting,  since  our  hero  certainly 
submitted  himself  to  Sukey's  blandishments  and  placed 
himself  under  the  fatal  spell  of  her  dimples  with  an  in 
creasing  frequency  which  was  to  be  lamented.  Especially 
was  it  lamented  by  Billy  Little.  Sukey  was  so  perfect  a 
little  specimen  of  the  human  animal,  and  her  heart  was 


A    KISS   AND   A    DUEL  233 

so  prone  to  tenderness,  that  she  became,  upon  intimate 
acquaintance,  the  incarnation  of  that  condition  into  which 
the  right  sort  of  people  pray  kind  Providence  to  lead  them 
not.  The  neighborhood  gossips  and  prophets  freely  pre 
dicted  that  Rita  would  marry  Williams,  in  which  case  it 
was  surmised  Miss  Yates  would  carry  her  dimples  into 
the  Bright  family.  This  theory  Sukey  encouraged  by 
arch  glances  and  shy  denials. 

Tom  had  become  a  great  dandy,  and  considered  himself 
one  of  the  commercial  features  of  the  Indiana  metropolis. 
He  would  have  his  old  home  friends,  including  Sukey, 
believe  that  he  directed  the  policy  of  Fisher  and  Fox,  and 
that  he  was  also  the  real  business  brain  in  the  office  of 
Roger  Williams,  where  he  occupied  the  position  of  confi 
dential  clerk.  He  was  of  little  real  value  to  Williams, 
save  in  the  matter  of  wooing  Tom's  sister.  Tom  knew 
that  he  held  his  clerkship  only  by  the  tenure  of  Rita's 
smiles,  and  Williams,  by  employing  him,  gained  an  ally 
not  at  all  to  be  despised. 

On  a  certain  Monday  morning,  after  Rita  had  the  day 
previous  shown  marked  preference  to  Die,  Williams 
said :  — 

"Tom,  father  orders  me  to  cut  down  expenses,  and  I 
fear  I  shall  be  compelled  to  begin  with  your  salary.  I 
regret  the  necessity,  but  the  governor's  orders  are  impera 
tive.  We  will  let  it  stand  as  it  is  for  this  month  and  will 
see  what  can  be  done  afterward." 

This  gentle  hint  was  not  lost  on  Thomas.  He  went 
home  that  day  to  dinner,  and  Rita  felt  the  heavy  hand 
of  her  brother's  displeasure. 

"  You  are  the  most  selfish,  ungrateful  girl  living,"  said 
Tom,  who  honestly  thought  his  fair  sister  had  injured  him. 
Tom's  sense  of  truth,  like  his  mother's,  ran  parallel  to  his 
wishes. 

"  Why  ? "    asked    Rita,    wonderingly.     Had   the    earth 


234  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

slipped  from  its  axis,  Tom  and  his  mother  would  have 
placed  the  blame  on  Rita. 

"  Why  ? "  repeated  Tom.  "  Because  you  know  I  have  a 
good  position  with  Williams.  He  pays  me  a  better  salary 
than  any  one  else  would  give  me  ;  yet  you  almost  insulted 
him  yesterday  and  went  off  for  a  walk  with  that  country 
jake." 

"  Isn't  Die  your  friend  ?  "  asked  Rita. 

"  No,  of  course  he  ain't,"  replied  Tom.  "  Do  you  think 
I'd  take  him  out  calling,  with  such  clothes  as  he  wears,  to 
see  any  of  the  girls  ? " 

"  I  hope  not,"  answered  Rita,  struggling  with  a  smile. 

"  No,  sir,"  insisted  Tom,  "  and  if  I  lose  my  place  because 
you  mistreat  Williams  on  Die's  account,  he  shan't  come  into 
this  house.  Do  you  understand  ?  If  he  does,  I'll  kick  him 
out." 

"  You  kick  Die  !  "  returned  Rita,  laughing.  "  You  would 
be  afraid  to  say  '  boo  '  to  him.  Tom,  I  should  be  sorry  to 
see  you  after  you  had  tried  to  kick  Die." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  now,  Sis,"  said  Tom,  threateningly, 
"you  treat  Williams  right.  If  you  don't,  your  big,  jakey 
friend  will  suffer." 

"  It  is  on  Die's  capital  that  father  is  making  so  much 
money,"  responded  Rita.  "  Had  it  not  been  for  him  we 
would  still  be  on  Blue.  I  certainly  wish  we  were  back 
there." 

"  Your  father  will  soon  pay  Die  his  money,"  said  Mrs. 
Bays,  solemnly,  "and  then  we  will  be  free  to  act  as  we 
wish." 

"  The  debt  to  Die  is  no  great  thing,"  said  Tom.  "  The 
firm  owes  Williams  nearly  four  times  that  amount,  and  he 
isn't  a  man  who  will  stand  much  foolishness.  Father  is 
not  making  so  much  money,  either,  as  you  think  for,  and 
the  first  thing  you  know,  with  your  smartness,  you  will  ruin 
him  and  me  both,  if  you  keep  on  making  a  fool  of  yourself. 


A    KISS   AND    A   DUEL  235 

But  that  wouldn't  hurt  you.  You  don't  think  of  nobody 
but  yourself." 

"  That  has  always  been  Rita's  chief  fault,"  remarked 
the  Chief  Justice,  sitting  in  solemn  judgment  upon  a  case 
that  was  not  before  her.  Poor  Rita  was  beginning  to  feel 
that  she  was  a  monster  of  selfishness.  Her  father  came 
feebly  to  her  defence. 

"  I  don't  believe  the  girl  lives,"  said  Thomas,  Sr.,  "who 
is  less  selfish  than  Rita.  But  Fisher  and  I  do  owe  Williams 
a  great  deal  of  money,  and  are  not  making  as  much  as  we 
did  at  first.  The  crops  failed  last  summer,  and  collections 
are  hard.  Williams  has  been  pressing  for  money,  and  I 
hope  all  the  family  will  treat  him  well,  for  he  is  the  kind 
of  man  who  might  take  out  his  spite  upon  me,  for  the  sake 
of  getting  even  with  somebody  else." 

Rita's  heart  sank.  Her  father,  though  a  weak  vassal, 
had  long  been  her  only  ally. 

Had  Williams  not  been  a  suitor  for  her  hand,  Rita  would 
have  found  him  agreeable ;  and  if  her  heart  had  been  free, 
he  might  have  won  it.  So  long  as  he  maintained  the  at 
titude  of  friend  and  did  not  conflict  with  Die's  claims,  he 
was  well  received  ;  but  when  he  became  a  lover  —  a  con 
dition  difficult  to  refrain  from  —  she  almost  hated  and 
greatly  feared  him.  Despite  her  wretchedness,  she  ac 
cepted  his  visits  and  invitations  for  her  father's  sake,  and 
at  times  felt  that  she  was  under  the  spell  of  a  cruel  wizard 
from  Boston.  With  all  these  conditions,  the  battle  of  Die's 
wooing,  though  he  held  the  citadel,  — Rita's  heart,  — was  by 
no  means  an  even  fight.  There  were  other  causes  operat 
ing  that  might  eventually  rout  him,  even  from  that  citadel. 

One  evening,  while  sitting  before  Billy  Little's  fire, 
Die's  campaign  was  discussed  in  detail.  The  young  man 
said  :  — 

"  Rita  and  I  are  to  be  married  soon  after  I  return  from 
New  York.  If  her  mother  consents,  well  and  good ;  if 


236  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

she  refuses,  we  will  bear  up  manfully  under  her  dis 
pleasure  and  ignore  it.  I  have  often  thought  of  your 
remark  about  Mrs.  Bays  as  a  mother-in-law." 

"  She  certainly  would  be  ideal,"  responded  Billy.  "  But 
I  hope  you  will  get  the  girl.  She's  worth  all  the  trouble 
the  old  lady  can  make." 

"Why  do  you  say  'hope'?"  asked  Die.  "I'm  sure  of 
getting  her.  Why,  Billy  Little,  if  I  were  to  lose  that  girl, 
I  believe  I  should  go  mad." 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,"  returned  his  friend.  "  You  would 
console  yourself  with  the  dimpler." 

"  Why,  Billy  Little,  you  are  crazy  —  excuse  me  —  but 
you  don't  understand,"  expostulated  Die.  "For  me,  all 
that  is  worth  possessing  in  the  whole  big  universe  is  con 
centrated  in  one  small  bit  of  humanity.  Her  little  body 
encompasses  it  all.  Sukey  Yates  could  be  nothing  to  me, 
even  though  I  cared  nothing  for  Rita.  She  has  too  many 
other  friends,  as  she  calls  them,  and  probably  is  equally 
generous  to  all." 

"  If  you  care  for  Rita,  you  should  remain  away  from 
Sukey,"  remarked  Billy.  "  She  may  be  comprehensive 
in  her  affections,  and  she  may  have  been  —  to  state  it 
mildly  —  overtender  at  times ;  but  when  a  girl  of  her 
ardent  temperament  falls  in  love,  she  becomes  dangerous, 
because  she  is  really  very  attractive  to  the  eye." 

"  I  don't  go  there  often,  and  I'll  take  your  advice  and 
remain  away.  I  have  feared  the  danger  you  speak  of, 
but—" 

"  Speak  out,  Die  ;  you  may  trust  me,"  said  Billy.  Die 
continued  :  — 

"  I  don't  like  to  speak  of  a  girl  as  I  was  going  to  speak 
of  Sukey,  but  I'll  explain.  I  have,  of  course,  been  unable 
to  explain  to  Rita,  and  I'm  a  selfish  brute  to  go  to  Sukey's 
at  all.  Rita  has  never  complained,  but  there  is  always  a 
troubled  look  in  her  eyes  when  she  jestingly  speaks  of 


A    KISS    AND    A    DUEL  237 

Sukey  as  my  'other  girl.'  Well,  it's  this  way:  Sukey 
often  comes  to  see  mother,  who  prefers  her  to  Rita,  and  if 
she  comes  in  the  evening,  of  course  I  take  her  home.  I 
believe  I  have  not  deliberately  gone  over  to  see  her  three 
times  in  all  my  life.  Sometimes  I  ride  home  from  church 
with  her  and  spend  part  of  the  evening.  Sukey  is  wonder 
fully  pretty,  and  her  health  is  so  good  that  at  times  she 
looks  like  a  little  nymph.  She  is,  in  a  way,  entertaining 
too.  As  you  say,  she  appeals  to  the  eye,  and  when  she 
grows  affectionate,  her  purring  and  her  dimples  make  a 
formidable  array  not  at  all  to  be  despised.  You  are  right. 
She  is  the  same  to  a  score  of  men,  and  I  could  not  fall  in 
love  with  her  were  she  the  only  girl  on  earth.  I  should  be 
kicked  for  speaking  so  of  her  or  of  any  girl,  but  you  know 
I  would  not  speak  so  freely  to  any  one  but  you.  Speaking 
to  you  seems  almost  like  thinking." 

"  If  it  makes  you  think,  I  shall  be  glad  you  spoke,"  an 
swered  Billy. 

"  No  more  Sukey  for  me,"  said  Die.  "  I'll  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  her.  I  want  to  be  decent  and  worthy  of 
Rita.  I  want  to  be  true  to  her,  and  Sukey  is  apt  to  lead 
me  in  the  other  direction,  without  even  the  excuse  on  my 
part  of  caring  for  her.  An  honest  man  will  not  deliber 
ately  lead  himself  into  temptation." 

Upon  the  Sunday  previous  to  Die's  intended  departure 
for  New  York  he  visited  Rita.  He  had  made  this  New 
York  trip  once  before,  and  had  returned  safely,  therefore 
its  terrors  for  Rita  were  greatly  reduced.  Her  regret  on 
account  of  the  second  expedition  was  solely  because  she 
would  be  separated  from  Die  for  three  or  four  months, 
and  that  bitterness  was  sweetened  by  the  thought  that  she 
would  have  him  always  after  his  return. 

"  How  shall  I  act  while  you  are  away  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Shall  I  continue  to  receive  Mr.  Williams,  or  shall  I  refuse 
to  see  him  ?  You  must  decide  for  me,  and  I'll  act  as  you 


238  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

wish.  You  know  how  unhappy  mother  will  be  if  I  refuse 
to  see  him  and  —  and,  you  know  she  will  be  very  severe 
with  me.  I  would  not  care  so  much  for  that,  although  her 
harshness  hurts  me  terribly.  But  mother's  in  bad  health 
—  her  heart  is  troubling  her  a  great  deal  of  late — and  I  can't 
bear  to  cause  her  pain.  On  the  other  hand,  it  tortures  me 
when  that  man  comes  near  me,  and  it  must  pain  you  when 
I  receive  him  kindly.  I  can't  bear  to  pain  you  and  —  and 
at  times  I  fear  if  I  permit  his  attention  you  will  —  will 
doubt  me.  That  would  kill  me,  Die ;  I  really  believe  it 
would." 

"  Don't  worry  on  that  score,"  replied  Die,  placing  his 
hand  on  her  heart,  "  there  is  nothing  but  truth  here." 

"  I  hope  not,  Die,"  she  replied.  She  could  not  boast 
even  of  her  fidelity.  There  might  be  many  sorts  of 
evil  in  that  heart,  for  all  she  knew. 

"  Indeed,  there  is  not,"  said  Die,  tenderly.  "  If  by  any 
chance  we  should  ever  be  separated,  —  if  we  should  ever 
lose  each  other,  —  it  will  not  be  because  of  your  bad 
faith." 

"But,  Die,"  cried  Rita,  "that  terrible  'if.'  It  is  the 
first  time  you  ever  used  the  word  with  reference  to 
us." 

"  It  means  nothing,  Rita,"  answered  Die,  reassuringly. 
"There  can  be  no  'if  between  you  and  me.  As  for 
Williams,  you  must  receive  him  and  treat  him  kindly. 
Tom  is  his  clerk,  and  I  should  hate  to  see  Tom  lose 
his  position.  Tom  is  a  mighty  good  fellow.  You  say 
your  father  owes  Williams  a  large  debt.  He  might,  if 
he  chose,  act  ugly.  Therefore,  you  must  act  prettily. 
Poor  Williams!  I'm  sorry  for  him.  We  will  give  them 
all  the  slip  when  I  return." 

The  slip  came  in  an  unexpected  manner,  and  Die  did 
not  go  to  New  York. 

Rita's  continued  aversion  to  Williams,  instead  of  cool- 


A    KISS   AND    A    DUEL  239 

ing  that  young  man's  ardor,  fired  it  to  a  degree  pre 
viously  unknown  in  the  cool-blooded  Williams  family. 
He  had  visited  his  cultured  home  for  the  purpose  of 
dilating  upon  the  many  charms  of  body,  soul,  and  mind 
possessed  by  this  fair  girl  of  the  wilderness.  His  par 
ents,  knowing  him  to  be  a  young  man  of  sound  May 
flower  judgment  and  worthy  to  be  trusted  for  making  a 
good,  sensible  bargain  in  all  matters  of  business,  includ 
ing  matrimony,  readily  gave  their  consent,  and  offered 
him  his  father's  place  at  the  head  of  the  agricultural 
firm,  in  case  he  should  marry.  They  were  wise  enough 
to  know  that  a  young  man  well  married  is  a  young 
man  well  made  ;  and  they  had  no  doubt,  judging  from 
Roger's  description,  that  Rita  was  the  girl  of  girls. 

Williams  did  not  tell  his  parents  that  up  to  that  time 
his  wooing  had  been  in  vain,  and  they,  with  good  rea 
son,  did  not  conceive  it  possible  that  any  girl  in  her 
right  mind  would  refuse  their  son.  Roger  was  willing, 
Roger's  parents  were  willing,  Rita's  parents  were  eager 
for  the  match ;  every  person  and  everything  needful 
were  on  his  side,  save  one  small  girl.  Roger  thought 
that  trifling  obstacle  would  soon  yield  to  the  pressure 
of  circumstances,  the  persuasion  of  conditions,  and  the 
charm  of  his  own  personality.  He  and  the  conditions 
had  been  warring  upon  the  small  obstacle  for  many 
months,  and  still  it  was  as  small  as  ever  —  but  no 
smaller.  The  non-aggressive,  feather-bed  stubbornness 
of  insignificant  obstacles  is  often  very  irritating  to  an 
enterprising  soul. 

Williams  was  a  fine,  intellectual  fellow,  and  his  knowl 
edge  of  human  nature  had  enabled  him  to  estimate  —  at 
least  to  approximate  —  the  inestimable  value  of  the  girl  he 
so  ardently  desired.  Her  rare  beauty  would,  he  thought, 
grace  a  palace ;  while  her  manifold  virtues  and  good  com 
mon-sense  would  accomplish  a  much  greater  task,  and  grace 


240  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

a  home.  Added  to  these  reasons  of  state  was  a  passionate 
love  on  the  part  of  Williams  of  which  any  woman  might 
have  been  proud.  Williams  was,  ordinarily,  sure-footed, 
and  would  have  made  fewer  mistakes  in  his  wooing  had 
his  love  been  less  feverish.  He  also  had  a  great  fund  of 
common-sense,  but  love  is  inimical  to  that  rare  commodity, 
and  under  the  blind  god's  distorting  influence  the  level- 
est  head  will,  in  time,  become  conical.  So  it  happened 
that,  after  many  months  of  cautious  manoeuvring,  Will 
iams  began  to  make  mistakes. 

For  the  sake  of  her  parents  and  Tom,  Rita  had 
treated  Williams  with  quiet  civility,  and  when  she  learned 
that  she  could  do  so  without  precipitating  a  too  great 
civility  on  his  part,  she  gathered  confidence  and  re 
ceived  him  with  undisguised  cordiality.  Roger,  in  his 
eagerness,  took  undue  hope.  Believing  that  the  obstacle 
had  become  very  small,  he  determined,  upon  occasion, 
to  remove  it  entirely,  by  one  bold  stroke.  Rita's  kind 
ness  and  Roger's  growing  hope  and  final  determination 
to  try  the  issue  of  one  pivotal  battle,  all  came  into  being 
during  the  period  when  Die  had  reduced  his  visits  to 
one  month.  The  final  charge  by  the  Boston  'vincibles 
was  made  on  the  evening  following  Die's  visit  last- 
mentioned. 

An  ominous  quiet  had  reigned  in  the  Williams  camp  for 
several  months,  and  the  beleaguered  city,  believing  that 
hostilities  had  ceased,  was  lulled  into  a  state  of  unwatchful- 
ness,  which,  in  turn,  had  given  great  hope  to  the  waiting 
cohorts. 

Upon  the  Monday  evening  referred  to,  the  girl  com 
manding  the  beleaguered  forces  received  the  enemy,  whom 
she  wished  might  be  her  friend,  into  her  outworks,  the 
front  parlor.  Little  dreaming  that  a  perfidious  Greek  was 
entering  her  Trojan  gates,  she  laughed  and  talked  charm 
ingly,  hoping,  if  possible,  to  smooth  the  road  for  her  father 


A    KISS    AND    A    DUEL  241 

and  Tom  by  the  help  of  her  all-powerful  smiles.  Poor  and 
weak  she  considered  those  smiles  to  be ;  but  the  Greek 
thought  them  wondrous,  and  coveted  them  as  no  Greek 
ever  coveted  Troy.  Feeling  that  Williams  sought  only 
her  friendship,  and  being  more  than  willing  to  give  him 
that,  she  was  her  natural  self,  and  was  more  winsome  and 
charming  than  she  had  ever  before  appeared  to  him.  Her 
graciousness,  which  he  should  have  been  wise  enough  to 
understand  but  did  not,  her  winsomeness  and  beauty,  which 
he  should  have  been  strong  enough  to  withstand  but  was 
not,  and  his  love,  which  he  tried  to  resist  but  could  not, 
induced  him  upon  that  evening  to  make  an  attack. 

Many  little  items  of  local  interest  had  been  discussed, 
foreign  affairs  were  touched  upon,  books,  music,  and  the 
blessed  weather  had  each  been  duly  considered,  and  short 
periods  of  silence  had  begun  to  occur,  together  with  an 
occasional  smothered  yawn  from  Rita.  Williams,  with  the 
original  purpose  of  keeping  the  conversation  going  and 
with  no  intent  to  boast,  said  :  — 

"  My  father  has  purchased  a  new  home  in  Boston  beyond 
the  Common,  over  on  the  avenue,  and  has  offered  to  give 
me  his  old  house.  He  has  determined  to  retire  from  the 
firm  and  I  am  to  take  his  place.  I  shall  start  for  Boston 
Christmas  Day "  —  here  his  self-control  forsook  him  — 
"  and,  Rita,  if  you  will  go  with  me,  I  shall  be  the  happiest 
man  on  earth." 

The  girl  remained  silent,  feeling  that  he  knew  her  mind 
on  the  subject,  and  hoping  he  would  proceed  no  farther. 
Hope,  spurred  by  desire,  is  easily  awakened,  and  Williams, 
misunderstanding  her  silence,  continued  :  — 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  boast,  but  I  cannot  help  telling  you 
that  your  home  in  Boston,  if  you  will  go  with  me,  will  be 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  the  city.  All  that  wealth  can 
buy  you  shall  have,  and  all  that  love  and  devotion  can 
bring  you  shall  possess.  Other  girls  would  jump  at  the 


242  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

chance — "  (poor  conical  head  —  this  to  this  girl)  "but 
I  want  you,  Rita  —  want  you  of  all  the  world." 

Rita  rose  to  her  feet,  surprised  and  alarmed  by  this 
Grecian  trick,  and  Williams,  stepping  quickly  to  her  side, 
grasped  her  hand.  He  had  lost  his  wonted  self-control  arid 
was  swept  forward  by  the  flood  of  his  long-pent-up  emo 
tions. 

"  Mr.  Williams,  I  beg  you  will  not  —  "  cried  Rita,  endeav 
oring  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

"You  shall  listen  to  me,"  he  cried,  half  in  anger,  half 
pleadingly.  "  I  have  loved  you  as  tenderly  and  unselfishly 
as  woman  ever  was  loved,  since  I  first  knew  you.  I  know  I 
am  not  worthy  of  you,  but  I  am  the  equal  of  any  other  man, 
and  you  shall  treat  me  fairly." 

The  girl,  in  alarm,  struggled  to  free  herself  from  his 
grasp,  but  he  held  her  and  continued :  — 

"  No  other  man  can  give  you  the  love  I  feel  for  you,  and 
you  shall  respond  to  it." 

"  It  is  impossible,  Mr.  Williams,"  she  said  pleadingly. 
"You  do  not  know  all.  I  am  sorry,  so  sorry,  to  give  you 
pain."  Her  ever  ready  tears  began  to  flow.  "  But  I  do 
not  feel  toward  you  as  you  wish.  I  —  there  is  another. 
He  is  —  has  been  very  near  to  me  since  I  was  a  child,  and 
I  have  promised  to  be  his  wife  this  long  time." 

Her  words  were  almost  maddening  to  Williams,  and  he 
retorted  as  if  he  were,  in  truth,  mad. 

"  That  country  fellow  ?  You  shall  never  marry  him  !  I 
swear  it !  He  is  a  poor,  supercilious  fool  and  doesn't  know 
it !  He  has  nothing  in  this  world,  and  has  never  seen  any 
thing  beyond  the  limits  of  his  father's  farm." 

"  He  has  been  to  New  York,"  interrupted  Rita,  in  all 
seriousness. 

Williams  laughed.  "  I  tell  you  he  is  a  boor.  He 
is  a  —  " 

"  He  is  to  be  my  husband,  Mr.  Williams,  and  I  hope 


A    KISS   AND    A   DUEL  243 

you  will  not  speak  ill  of  him,"  said  Rita,  with  cold 
dignity. 

"  He  is  not  to  be  your  husband,"  cried  Williams,  angrily. 
"  You  shall  be  mine  —  mine  ;  do  you  hear  ?  Mine  !  I  will 
have  you,  if  I  must  —  "  he  caught  the  girl  in  his  arms,  and 
pressing  her  head  back  upon  the  bend  of  his  elbow,  kissed 
her  lips  to  his  heart's  content  and  to  his  own  everlasting 
undoing.  When  he  released  her  she  started  from  the 
room,  but  he,  grasping  her  arm,  detained  her,  saying :  — 

"  Rita,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  lost  my  head.  I  am  sorry. 
Forgive  me." 

"There  can  be  no  forgiveness  for  you,"  she  said,  speak 
ing  slowly,  "and  I  wish  you  to  let  me  leave  the  room." 

"  Rita,  forgive  me,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  tell  you  I  was  in 
sane  when  I  —  I  did  that.  You  have  almost  driven  me 
mad.  You  can  surely  forgive  me  when  you  know  that  my 
act  was  prompted  by  my  love.  Your  heart  is  ready  with 
forgiveness  and  love  for  every  one  but  me,  and  I,  more 
than  all  others,  love  you.  I  beg  you  to  forgive  me,  and  if 
I  cannot  have  your  love,  forget  what  I  have  done  this 
night  and  again  be  my  friend." 

After  a  long,  painful  pause,  she  spoke  deliberately :  "  I 
would  not  marry  you,  Mr.  Williams,  if  you  were  a  king,  or 
if  I  should  die  by  reason  of  refusing  you.  I  cannot  now 
be  even  your  friend.  I  shall  tell  my  father  and  brother 
what  you  have  done,  and  they  will  order  you  out  of  this 
house.  I  will  tell  Die,  and  he  will  kill  you !  "  Her  eyes, 
usually  so  gentle,  were  hard  and  cold,  as  she  continued : 
"There  is  the  door.  I  hope  you  will  never  darken  it 
again." 

She  again  started  to  leave  the  room,  and  he  again  detained 
her.  He  knew  that  disgrace  would  follow  exposure,  and, 
being  determined  to  silence  her  at  any  cost,  said  angrily :  — 

"  If  you  tell  your  father,  I  will  take  from  him  his  store, 
his  home,  his  farm.  He  owes  me  more  than  all  combined 


244  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

are  worth.  If  you  will  not  listen  to  me  through  love,  you 
shall  do  so  from  fear.  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  for  what 
happened.  I  know  the  consequences  if  you  speak  of  it. 
No  one  can  be  made  to  understand  exactly  how  it  hap 
pened,  and  I  will  protect  myself ;  of  that  you  may  be  sure. 
If  you  speak  of  what  I  did,  driven  to  it  by  my  love  for 
you,  I  say  I  will  turn  your  father  and  mother  into  the 
street.  They  will  be  penniless  in  their  old  age.  Your 
brother  Tom  is  a  thief.  He  has  been  stealing  from  me 
ever  since  he  came  to  my  office.  Only  last  night  I  laid  a 
trap  for  him  and  caught  him  in  the  act  of  stealing  fifty 
dollars.  He  took  the  money  and  lost  it  at  Welch's  gam 
bling  saloon.  He  has  taken,  in  all,  nearly  a  thousand 
dollars.  I  have  submitted  to  his  thefts  on  your  account. 
I  have  extended  your  father's  notes  because  he  is  your 
father.  But  if  you  tell  any  one  that  I  —  I  kissed  you 
to-night,  or  if  you  repeat  what  I  have  told  concerning  your 
father  and  brother,  your  parents  go  to  the  street,  and  Tom 
to  the  penitentiary.  Now,  do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Will  you  remain  silent  ? " 

"Yes." 

Then  he  took  his  hat,  saying,  "  I  have  been  beside 
myself  to-night,  but  it  was  through  love  for  you,  and  you 
will  forgive  me,  won't  you  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  I  may  come  again  ? "  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  And  we  will  forget  all  that  has  happened  this  evening 
and  you  will  be  my  friend  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  If  you  will  forgive  me,"  he  continued,  recovering  his 
senses,  "and  will  allow  me  the  sweet  privilege  of  your 
friendship,  I  promise  never  again  to  speak  of  my  love  until 
you  have  given  me  permission.  Shall  it  be  a  compact  ?  " 


A    KISS    AND    A    DUEL  245 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  girl. 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  hand  ?  "  he  asked.  She  offered 
the  hand,  and  he  clasping  it,  said :  — 

"  You  have  much  to  forgive,  but  your  heart  is  full  of 
gentleness,  and  you  have  promised." 

"Yes,  I  have  promised,"  she  returned  huskily. 

"  Good  night,  Rita." 

"  Good  night." 

The  girl  hurried  to  her  room,  and,  almost  unconscious 
of  what  she  was  doing,  dressed  for  the  night.  During  the 
first  few  minutes  after  she  had  extinguished  the  candle 
and  had  crept  into  bed,  she  could  not  think  coherently, 
but  soon  consciousness  came  in  an  ingulfing  flood.  Will- 
iams's  kisses  seemed  to  stick  to  her.  She  rubbed  her  lips 
till  they  were  raw,  but  still  the  clinging  pollution  seemed 
to  penetrate  to  her  soul.  Her  first  coherent  thought, 
of  course,  was  of  Die.  No  man  but  he  had  ever,  till 
that  night,  touched  her  lips,  and  with  him  a  kiss  was  a 
sacrament.  Now  he  would  scorn  her.  The  field  of  her 
disaster  seemed  to  broaden,  as  she  thought  of  it,  and  with 
the  chastity  of  her  lips  she  felt  that  she  had  lost  everything 
worth  having  in  life.  Abandoning  her  pillow,  she  covered 
her  head  with  the  counterpane,  and  drawing  her  knees 
to  her  breast,  lay  trembling  and  sobbing.  Die  was  lost 
to  her.  There  seemed  to  be  no  other  possible  outcome  to 
the  present  situation.  She  feared  Williams  as  never  be 
fore,  and  felt  that  she  was  in  his  clutches  beyond  escape. 
The  situation  seemed  hopeless  beyond  even  the  reach 
of  prayer,  her  usual  refuge,  and  she  did  not  pray.  She 
knew  of  her  father's  debt  to  Williams,  and  had  always 
feared  that  Tom  was  not  to  be  trusted.  She  was  con 
vinced  without  evidence  other  than  Williams's  words  that 
he  had  told  the  truth,  and  she  knew  that  ruin  and  disgrace 
for  her  father  and  Tom  waited  upon  a  nod  from  the  man 
whom  she  hated,  and  that  the  nod  waited  upon  her  frown. 


246  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

The  next  morning  Rita's  face  lacked  much  of  its  wonted 
beauty.  Her  eyes  were  red  and  dim,  the  cheeks  were  pale 
and  dim,  her  lips  were  blue  and  dim,  and  all  the  world, 
seen  by  her  eyes,  was  dark  and  dim.  The  first  thing  that 
must  be  done,  of  course,  was  to  tell  Die  of  the  ravaged 
kiss.  She  had  no  more  desire  to  conceal  that  terrible  fact 
from  him  than  a  wounded  man  has  to  deceive  the  surgeon. 
He  must  be  told  without  delay,  even  should  he  at  once 
spurn  her  forever. 

She  feared  Williams,  bearing  in  mind  his  threat,  and 
determined  first  to  pledge  Die  to  secrecy,  and  then  to  tell 
him  of  her  disgrace.  She  wrote  to  him,  begging  him  to 
come  to  her  at  once ;  and  he  lost  no  time  in  going. 

He  arrived  at  the  Bays  house  an  hour  past  noon,  and 
Rita  soon  had  him  to  herself  in  the  front  parlor.  When 
they  entered  the  room  and  were  alone  he  took  her  hand  ; 
but  she  withdrew  it,  saying  :  — 

"No,  no  ;  wait  till  you  hear  what  has  happened." 

He  readily  saw  that  something  terrible  had  transpired. 
"  What  is  it,  Rita  ?  Tell  me  quickly." 

"  I  can't,  Die,  till  I  have  your  solemn  promise  that  you 
will  never  repeat  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you." 

"  But,  Rita  —  "  he  began,  in  expostulation. 

"  No  —  no,  you  must  promise.  You  must  swear  —  if  you 
will  hear." 

"  I  promise.     I  swear  if  you  wish.     What  can  it  be  ? " 

Then  she  drew  him  to  a  settee,  and  with  downcast  eyes 
began  her  piteous  story. 

"  Monday  evening  Mr.  Williams  came  to  call  upon  me. 
You  know  you  said  I  must  receive  him  kindly.  I  did  so. 
And  he  again  asked  me  to  —  to  —  you  know  —  to  marry 
him.  When  I  told  him  it  was  impossible,  he  grew  angry ; 
and  when  I  became  frightened  and  tried  to  leave  the  room, 
he  caught  me  by  the  hand  and  would  not  let  me  go.  Then 
he  told  me  again  how  desperately  he  cared  for  me ;  and 


A    KISS   AND   A    DUEL  247 

when  I  answered  angrily  and  tried  to  escape,  he  held  me 
and  —  and  —  oh,  Die,  I  can't  tell  you.  I  thought  I  could, 
but  I  can't.  I  —  I  loathe  myself."  She  bent  her  head 
forward,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  sobbed 
convulsively. 

"Go  on,  Rita.  My  God!  you  must  tell  me,"  demanded 
Die. 

"  I  know  I  must,"  she  replied  between  sobs.     "  Oh,  Die, 

do  not  hate  me.     He  held  me  to  him  as  you  sometimes  do, 

—  but,  oh,  it  was  so  different.     I  was  helpless,  and  he  bent 

back  my  head  and  kissed  me  on  the  lips  till  I  thought  I 

should  faint." 

"  The  cowardly  hound.     He  shall  pay  dearly  for  his  —  " 

"  I  have  your  promise,  your  oath,"  said  the  girl,  inter 
rupting  him. 

"But,  Rita  —  " 

"  I  trusted  you,  Die,  and  I  know  you  will  faithfully  keep 
your  promise.  Father  owes  Williams  a  large  sum  of 
money,  and  Tom  has  been  stealing  from  him."  Here  she 
began  to  weep.  "  He  will  ruin  father  and  send  Tom  to 
the  penitentiary  if  he  learns  that  I  have  told  you  this. 
He  told  me  he  would,  and  I  promised  I  would  tell  no  one ; 
but  my  duty  to  you  is  higher  than  my  duty  to  keep  my 
promise.  Now  you  know  why  I  held  you  off  when  we 
came  in  here." 

"No,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "You  have  not  prom 
ised  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  returned  excitedly. 

"Then  why  did  you  refuse  me  ?" 

"  I'm  not  worthy  to  be  your  wife.  I  feel  that  I  have 
been  contaminated,"  she  answered. 

"  No,  no,  girl,"  he  cried  joyfully.  "  It  was  not  your 
fault.  The  falling  snow  is  not  purer  than  you,  and  truth 
itself  is  not  truer  than  your  heart.  I  go  to  New  York 
soon,  and  when  I  return  all  your  troubles  will  cease." 


248  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"They  have  ceased  already,  Die,"  she  murmured,  plac 
ing  her  head  upon  his  breast,  while  tears  fell  unheeded 
over  her  cheeks.  "  I  thought  an  hour  ago  I  should  never 
again  be  happy,  but  I  am  happy  already.  Die,  you  are  a 
wonderful  man  to  produce  such  a  change  in  so  short  a 
time." 

"  I  am  wonderful  only  in  what  you  give  me,"  he  answered. 

"How  beautifully  you  speak,"  she  whispered;  but  the 
remainder  of  that  interview  is  not  at  all  necessary  to  this 
story. 

Die  left  Rita  late  in  the  afternoon  and  met  Williams  on 
the  street  down  town.  They  could  not  easily  pass  each 
other  without  exchanging  words,  so  they  stopped  and  spoke 
stiffly  about  the  weather,  past,  present,  and  future.  Die 
tried  to  conceal  all  traces  of  resentment,  and  partially  suc 
ceeded.  Williams,  still  smarting  from  his  troubles  and 
mistakes  with  Rita,  and  hating  Die  accordingly,  concealed 
his  feelings  with  poor  success.  The  hatred  of  these  men 
for  each  other  was  plain  in  every  word  and  act,  and  in  a 
few  moments,  Williams,  unable  longer  to  bear  the  strain, 
said :  — 

"  This  sham  between  us  is  disgusting.  Let  us  settle  our 
differences  as  gentlemen  adjust  such  affairs." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  we  shall  fight  it  out  ? "  asked  Die. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Williams.  "  You  are  not  afraid  to  fight, 
are  you  ? " 

"  No,  and  yes,"  answered  Die.  "  I  have  had  but  few 
fights  —  I  fear  I  could  not  go  into  a  fight  in  cold  blood  and 
—  and  for  many  reasons  I  do  not  wish  to  fight  you." 

"  I  supposed  you  would  decline.  I  knew  you  to  be  a 
coward,"  sneered  Williams,  growing  brave  upon  seeing 
Die's  disinclination. 

"  No,"  responded  Die,  calmly  looking  into  Williams's 
face,  "  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  you.  You  could  not 
stand  against  me  even  for  one  minute." 


A    KISS   AND   A    DUEL  249 

"  But  you  misunderstand  me,"  said  Williams.  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  fight  with  my  fists.  That  is  the  method  of  ruffians 
and  country  bullies.  I  am  not  surprised  at  your  mistake." 

Die  laughed  softly  and  replied  :  "I  do  not  know  why 
your  words  don't  anger  me.  Perhaps  because  I  pity  you. 
I  can  afford  to  be  magnanimous  and  submit  to  your  rav 
ings  ;  therefore,  I  am  neither  angry  nor  afraid." 

"  I  propose  to  settle  our  difficulty  as  gentlemen  adjust 
such  affairs,"  said  Williams.  "  Of  course,  you  know  noth 
ing  about  the  methods  of  gentlemen.  I  challenge  you  to 
meet  me  in  a  duel.  Now  do  you  understand  —  under 
stand  ? " 

Williams  was  nervous,  and  there  was  a  murderous  gleam 
in  his  eyes.  Die's  heart  throbbed  faster  for  a  moment,  but 
soon  took  again  its  regular  beat.  He  rapidly  thought  over 
the  situation  and  said :  — 

"  I  don't  want  to  kill  you  and  don't  want  you  to  kill  me." 
He  paused  for  a  moment  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  con 
tinued  :  "  Suppose  we  let  the  girl  decide  this  between  us. 
But  perhaps  I  am  again  showing  my  ignorance  of  gentle 
manly  methods  Do  gentlemen  force  their  attentions  upon 
unwilling  ladies  ? " 

"  Oh,  if  you  refuse,"  retorted  Williams,  ignoring  his  ques 
tion,  "  I  can  slap  your  face  now  in  the  public  streets." 

"  Don't  do  it,  Williams,"  responded  Die,  looking  to  the 
ground  and  trying  to  remain  calm. 

"Why?"  Williams  asked. 

"  Because  —  I  will  fight  you  if  you  insist,  without  the  oc 
casion  of  a  street  brawl.  Another  name  might  be  brought 
into  that." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  accept  my  challenge  ? " 
asked  Williams. 

"  Yes,  if  you  insist,"  replied  Die,  calmly,  as  if  he  were 
accepting  an  invitation  to  dinner.  "  I  have  always  supposed 
that  this  sort  of  an  affair  should  be  arranged  between  gen- 


250  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

tlemen  by  their  friends;  but  of  course  I  don't  know  how 
gentlemen  act  under  these  circumstances.  Perhaps  you 
don't  consider  me  a  gentleman,  and  you  certainly  must 
have  some  doubts  in  your  mind  concerning  yourself ;  there 
fore,  it  may  be  proper  for  us  to  arrange  this  little  matter 
with  each  other." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  prefer  seconds,"  returned  Will 
iams.  "  They  might  prevent  a  meeting." 

After  a  few  moments  of  silence  Die  said,  "  If  we  fight, 
I  fear  another  person's  name  will  be  dragged  into  our 
quarrel." 

"  You  may,  if  you  wish,  find  plenty  of  excuses,"  returned 
Roger.  "  If  you  wish  to  accept  my  challenge,  do  so.  If 
not,  say  so,  and  I  will  take  my  own  course." 

"  Oh,  I'll  accept,"  returned  Die,  cheerily.  "  As  the 
challenged  party,  if  we  were  gentlemen,  I  believe  I  might 
choose  the  weapons." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Williams. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  would  be  the  result  were  I  to 
choose  rifles  at  two  hundred  yards  ?  "  asked  Die,  with  an 
ugly  smile  on  his  face. 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  responded  the  other.  "  I  ex 
pected  you  to  choose  hoes  or  pitchforks." 

"  I  think  it  fair  to  tell  you,"  said  Die,  "  that  I  can  hit  a 
silver  dollar  four  times  out  of  five  shots  at  two  hundred 
yards,  and  you  will  probably  do  well  to  hit  a  barn  door 
once  out  of  ten  at  that  distance.  I  will  let  you  see  me 
shoot  before  I  definitely  choose  weapons.  Afterwards,  if 
you  prefer  some  other,  I  will  abide  your  choice." 

"  I  am  satisfied  with  your  choice,"  responded  Williams, 
who  prided  himself  upon  his  rifle-shooting,  in  which 
accomplishment  Die  had  underrated  his  antagonist. 

"  We  must  adopt  some  plan  to  prevent  people  from  con 
necting  another  person  with  this  affair,"  suggested  Die. 
"  If  you  will  come  down  to  Bays's  farm  for  a  day's  hunting, 


A   KISS   AND   A   DUEL  251 

I  will  meet  you  there,  and  the  result  may  be  attributed 
by  the  survivor  to  a  hunting  accident." 

"  The  plan  suits  me,"  said  Williams.  "  I'll  meet  you 
there  to-morrow  at  noon.  I'll  tell  Tom  I  have  an  engage 
ment  to  go  squirrel-hunting  with  you." 

Die  rode  home,  and  of  course  carried  the  news  of  his 
forthcoming  duel  to  Billy  Little. 

"There  are  worse  institutions  in  this  world  than  the 
duel,"  remarked  Billy,  much  to  his  listener's  surprise.  "  It 
helps  to  thin  out  the  fools." 

"  But,  Billy  Little,  I  must  fight  him,"  responded  Die. 
"  He  insists,  and  will  not  accept  my  refusal.  He  says  I 
am  afraid  to  fight  him." 

"  If  he  should  say  you  were  a  blackamoor,  I  suppose 
you  would  be  black,"  retorted  Billy.  "  Is  that  the  way 
of  it?" 

"  But  I  am  glad  he  does  not  give  me  an  opportunity  to 
refuse,"  said  Die. 

"I  supposed  as  much,"  answered  Billy.  "You  will  doubt 
less  be  delighted  if  he  happens  to  put  a  bullet  through  you, 
and  will  surely  be  happy  for  life  if  you  kill  him." 

"  It  is  his  doing,  Billy  Little,"  said  Die,  with  an  ugly 
gleam  in  his  eyes,  "  and  I  would  not  balk  him.  Billy 
Little,  I  would  fight  that  man  if  I  knew  I  should  hang  for 
it  the  next  day.  I'll  tell  you  —  he  grossly  insulted  Rita 
Monday  evening.  He  held  her  by  force  and  kissed  her 
lips  till  she  was  hardly  conscious." 

"  Good  God  !  "  cried  Billy,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
trembling  with  excitement.  "  Fight  him,  Die  !  Kill  him, 
Die  !  Kill  the  brute  !  If  you  don't,  by  the  good  God,  I 
will." 

"  You  need  not  urge  me,  Billy  Little.  I'm  quite  willing 
enough.  Still  I  hope  I  shall  not  kill  him." 

"  You  hope  you  will  not  kill  him  ?  "  demanded  Billy. 
"  If  you  do  not,  I  will.  Where  do  you  meet  ? " 


252  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  He  will  be  at  Bays's  house  to-morrow  noon,  and  we  will 
go  up  to  my  cleared  eighty,  half  a  mile  north.  There  we  will 
step  off  a  course  of  two  hundred  yards  and  fire.  Whatever 
happens  we  will  say  was  the  result  of  a  hunting  accident." 

Billy  determined  to  be  in  hiding  near  the  field  of  battle, 
and  was  secreted  in  the  forest  adjoining  the  cleared  eighty 
an  hour  before  noon  next  day.  Late  in  the  morning  Die 
took  his  rifle  and  walked  down  to  the  Bays's  house.  I  shall 
not  try  to  describe  his  sensations. 

Williams  was  waiting,  and  Die  found  him  carefully 
examining  his  gun.  The  gun  contained  a  bullet  which, 
Die  thought,  with  small  satisfaction,  might  within  a  short 
time  end  his  worldly  troubles,  and  the  troubles  seemed  more 
endurable  than  ever  before.  Sleep  had  cooled  his  brain 
since  his  conversation  with  Billy,  and  he  could  not  work 
himself  into  a  murderous  state  of  mind.  He  possessed 
Rita,  and  love  made  him  magnanimous.  He  did  not  want 
to  fight,  though  fear  was  no  part  of  his  reluctance.  The 
manner  of  his  antagonist  soon  left  no  doubt  in  Die's  mind 
that  the  battle  was  sure  to  come  off.  Something  in 
Williams  —  perhaps  it  was  his  failure  to  meet  his  enemy's 
eyes  —  alarmed  Die's  suspicions,  and  for  a  moment  he 
feared  treachery  at  the  hands  of  his  morose  foe  ;  but  he 
dismissed  the  thought  as  unworthy,  and  opening  the  gate 
started  up  the  river  path,  taking  the  lead.  He  was  ashamed 
to  show  his  distrust  of  Williams,  though  he  could  not 
entirely  throw  it  off,  and  the  temptation  to  turn  his  head 
now  and  then  to  watch  his  following  enemy  was  irre 
sistible.  They  had  been  walking  but  a  few  minutes  when 
Die,  prompted  by  distrust,  suddenly  turned  his  head  and 
looked  into  the  barrel  of  a  gun  held  firmly  to  the  shoulder 
of  our  gentleman  from  Boston.  With  the  nimbleness  of  a 
cat,  Die  sprang  to  one  side,  and  a  bullet  whistled  past  his 
face.  One  second  later  in  turning  his  head  and  the  hunt 
ing  accident  would  have  occurred. 


A    KISS   AND    A   DUEL  253 

After  the  shot  Williams  in  great  agitation  said  :  — 

"  I  saw  a  squirrel  and  have  missed  it." 

"  You  may  walk  ahead,"  answered  Die,  with  not  a  nerve 
ruffled.  "  You  might  see  another  squirrel." 

Williams  began  to  reload  his  gun,  but  Die  interrupted 
the  proceeding. 

"  Don't  load  now.     We  will  soon  reach  the  clearing." 

Williams  continued  reloading,  and  was  driving  the  patch 
down  upon  the  powder.  Die  cocked  his  rifle,  and  raising 
it  halfway  to  his  shoulder,  said  :  — 

"  Don't  put  the  bullet  in  unless  you  wish  me  to  see  a 
squirrel.  I'll  not  miss.  Throw  me  your  bullet  pouch." 

Williams,  whose  face  looked  like  a  mask  of  death,  threw 
the  bullet  pouch  to  Die,  and,  in  obedience  to  a  gesture, 
walked  forward  on  the  path.  After  taking  a  few  steps 
he  looked  backward  to  observe  the  man  he  had  tried  to 
murder. 

"You  need  not  watch  me,"  Die  said;  "I'm  not  hunting 
squirrels." 

Soon  they  reached  the  open  field.  Die  had  cleared 
every  foot  of  the  ground,  and  loved  it  because  he  had  won 
it  single-handed  in  a  battle  royal  with  nature ;  but  nature 
was  a  royal  foe  that,  when  conquered,  gave  royal  spoils  of 
victory.  The  rich  bottom  soil  had  year  by  year  repaid 
Die  many-fold  for  his  labor.  He  loved  the  land,  and  if 
fate  should  prove  unkind  to  him,  he  would  choose  that 
spot  of  all  others  upon  which  to  fall. 

"  Is  this  the  place  ? "  asked  Williams. 

"Yes,"  answered  Die,  tossing  the  bullet  pouch.  "Now 
you  may  load." 

When  Williams  had  finished  loading,  Die  said :  "  I  will 
drop  my  hat  here.  We  will  walk  from  each  other,  you 
going  west,  I  going  east.  The  sun  is  in  the  south.  When 
we  have  each  taken  one  hundred  steps,  we  will  call '  Ready,' 
turn,  and  fire  when  we  choose." 


254  A    FOREST   HEARTH 

Accordingly,  Die  dropped  his  hat,  and  the  two  men 
started,  one  toward  the  east,  one  toward  the  west,  while 
the  sun  was  shining  in  the  south.  Williams  quickly  ran 
his  hundred  steps. 

Die  had  counted  forty  steps  when  he  heard  the  cry 
"  Die  "  coming  from  the  forest  ten  yards  to  the  south,  and 
simultaneously  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  behind  him.  At 
the  same  instant  his  left  leg  gave  way  under  him  and  he 
fell  to  the  ground,  supposing  he  had  stepped  into  a  musk- 
rat  hole.  After  he  had  fallen  he  turned  quickly  toward 
Williams  and  saw  that  gentleman  hastily  reloading  his 
gun.  Then  he  fully  realized  that  his  antagonist  had  shot 
him,  though  he  was  unable  to  account  for  the  voice  he 
had  heard  from  the  forest.  That  mystery,  too,  was  quickly 
explained  when  he  heard  Billy's  dearly  loved  voice  calling 
to  Williams :  — 

"  Drop  that  gun,  or  you  die  within  a  second." 

Turning  to  the  left  Die  saw  his  friend  holding  the  rifle 
which  had  fallen  from  his  own  hands  when  he  went  down, 
and  the  little  fellow  looked  the  picture  of  determined  feroc 
ity.  Williams  dropped  his  gun.  Die  was  sitting  upright 
where  he  had  fallen,  and  Billy,  handing  him  the  weapon, 
said :  — 

"  Kill  him,  Die ;  kill  him  as  you  would  a  wolf.  I'm 
afraid  if  I  shoot  I'll  miss  him,  and  then  he  will  reload  and 
kill  you." 

Williams  was  a  hundred  and  forty  yards  away,  but 
Die  could  easily  have  pierced  his  heart.  He  took  the 
gun  and  lifted  it  to  his  shoulder.  Williams  stood  motion 
less  as  a  tree  upon  a  calm  day.  Die  lowered  his  gun,  but 
after  a  pause  lifted  it  again  and  covered  Williams's  heart. 
He  held  the  gun  to  his  shoulder  for  a  second  or  two,  then 
he  threw  it  to  the  ground,  saying  :  — 

"  I  can't  kill  him.  Tell  him  to  go,  Billy  Little.  Tell 
him  to  go  before  I  kill  him." 


"'K.II.I.    HIM,    DlC;     KM. I.    HIM    AS    VOL'    \VUfI.I)    A    \\OI.I 


A    KISS   AND    A   DUEL  257 

Williams  took  up  his  gun  from  the  ground  and  started 
to  leave,  when  Die  said  to  Billy  Little :  — 

"  Tell  him  to  leave  his  bullets." 

Williams  dropped  the  bullet  pouch  without  a  command 
from  Billy,  and  again  started  to  leave.  Die  tried  to  rise 
to  his  feet,  but  failed. 

"  I  guess  I'm  wounded,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  My  God, 
Billy  Little,  look  at  the  blood  I've  lost !  I  —  I  feel  weak — 
and  —  and  dizzy.  I  believe  I'm  going  to  faint,"  and  he 
accordingly  did  so.  Billy  cut  away  the  trousers  from  Die's 
wounded  leg,  disclosing  a  small  round  hole  in  the  thigh. 
The  blood  was  issuing  in  ugly  spurts,  and  at  once  Billy 
knew  an  artery  had  been  wounded.  He  tore  the  trousers 
leg  into  shreds  and  made  a  tourniquet  which  he  tied  firmly 
above  the  wound  and  soon  the  haemorrhage  was  greatly 
reduced.  By  the  time  the  tourniquet  was  adjusted,  Will 
iams  was  well  down  towards  the  river,  and  Billy  called  to 
him :  — 

"Go  up  the  river  to  the  first  house  and  tell  Mrs.  Bright 
to  send  the  man  down  with  the  wagon.  Perhaps  if  you 
assist  us,  the  theory  of  the  accident  will  be  more  plausible." 

Williams  did  as  directed.  Die  was  taken  home.  Within 
an  hour  Kennedy,  summoned  by  an  unwilling  messenger, 
was  by  the  wounded  man's  side.  Billy  Little  was  watch 
ing  with  Die's  mother,  anxious  to  hear  the  doctor's  verdict. 
There  was  still  another  anxious  watcher,  our  pink  and 
white  little  nymph,  Sukej,  though  the  pink  had,  for  the 
time,  given  way  to  the  white.  She  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  her  grief,  and  was  willing  that  all  who  looked 
might  see  her  love  for  the  man  who  was  lying  on  the  bed 
unconscious. 

Williams  remained  with  Bays's  tenant  till  next  day,  and 
then  returned  to  Indianapolis,  carrying  the  news  of  the 
"  accident." 


THE   LOVE    POWDER 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  LOVE  POWDER 

ITA  was  with  her  mother  when  she  received  the 
terrible  news.  Of  course  the  accident  was  the 
theme  of  conversation,  and  Rita  was  in  deep 
trouble.  Even  Mrs.  Bays  was  moved  by  the  calamity  that 
had  befallen  the  man  whose  face,  since  his  early  boyhood, 
had  been  familiar  in  her  own  house.  At  first  Rita  made 
no  effort  to  express  her  grief. 

"  It  is  too  bad,  too  bad,"  was  the  extent  of  Mrs.  Bays's 
comment.  Taking  courage  from  even  so  meagre  an  ex 
pression  of  sympathy,  Rita  begged  that  she  might  go  home 
—  she  still  called  the  banks  of  Blue  her  home  —  and  help 
Mrs.  Bright  nurse  Die.  Mrs.  Bays  gazing  sternly  at  the 
malefactor,  uttered  the  one  word  "  No,"  and  Rita's  small 
spark  of  hope  was  extinguished  almost  before  it  had  been 
kindled. 

Within  a  few  days  Billy  Little  went  to  see  Rita,  and  re 
lieved  her  of  anxiety  concerning  Die.  Before  he  left  he 
told  her  that  Sukey  was  staying  with  Mrs.  Bright  and 
assisting  in  the  nursing  and  the  work. 

"  I  have  been  staying  there  at  night,"  said  Billy,  "  and 
Sukey  hangs  about  the  bed  at  all  hours." 

Billy  did  not  wish  to  cause  jealousy  in  Rita's  breast,  but 
hoped  to  induce  her  to  expostulate  gently  with  Die  about 
the  attentions  he  permitted  himself  to  receive  from  the 
dimpler.  For  a  minute  or  two  his  words  caused  a  feeling 
of  troubled  jealousy  in  Rita's  heart,  but  she  soon  dismissed 

261 


262  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

it  as  unworthy  of  her,  and  unjust  to  Die  and  Sukey.  To 
that  young  lady  she  wrote :  "  I  am  not  permitted  to  nurse 
him,  and  I  thank  you  for  taking  my  place.  I  shall  re 
member  your  goodness  so  long  as  I  live." 

The  letter  should  have  aroused  in  Sukey's  breast  high 
impulses  and  pure  motives  ;  but  it  brought  from  her  red 
lips,  amid  their  nest  of  dimples,  the  contemptuous  expletive 
"  Fool,"  and  I  am  not  sure  that  she  was  entirely  wrong.  A 
due  respect  for  the  attractiveness  and  willingness  of  her 
sisters  is  wise  in  a  woman.  Rita's  lack  of  wisdom  may  be 
excused  because  of  the  fact  that  her  trust  in  Sukey  was 
really  a  part  of  her  faith  in  Die. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Die  did  not  go  to  New  York, 
but  was  confined  to  his  home  for  several  months  with  a 
fractured  thigh  bone.  During  that  period  Rita  was  in 
constant  prayer  and  Sukey  in  daily  attendance.  The 
dimpler's  never  ceasing  helpfulness  to  Die  and  his  mother 
won  his  gratitude,  while  the  dangerous  twinkling  of  the 
dimples  and  the  pretty  sheen  of  her  skin  became  familiar 
to  him  as  household  gods.  He  had  never  respected  the 
girl,  nor  was  his  respect  materially  augmented  by  her 
kindness,  which  at  times  overleaped  itself ;  but  his  grati 
tude  increased  his  affection,  and  his  sentiment  changed 
from  one  of  almost  repugnance  to  a  kindly  feeling  of  ad 
miration  for  her  seductive  beauty,  regard  for  her  kindly 
heart,  and  pleasure  in  her  never  failing  good  temper. 

Sukey  still  clung  to  her  dominion  over  several  hearts,  re 
ceiving  them  upon  their  allotted  evenings ;  and  although  she 
had  grown  passionately  fond  of  Die,  she  gave  a  moiety  of 
kindness  to  her  subjects,  each  in  his  turn.  She  easily  con 
vinced  each  that  he  was  the  favored  one,  and  that  the 
others  were  friends  and  were  simply  tolerated.  She  tried 
no  such  coquetry  with  Die,  but  gladly  fed  upon  such 
crumbs  as  he  might  throw  her.  If  he  unduly  withheld  the 
crumbs,  she,  unable  to  resist  her  yearning  for  the  unattain- 


THE    LOVE    POWDER  263 

able,  at  times  lost  all  maidenly  reserve,  and  by  eloquent 
little  signs  and  pleadings  sought  them  at  the  hand  of 
her  Dives.  The  heart  of  a  coquette  is  to  be  won  only  by 
running  away  from  it,  and  Die's  victory  over  Sukey  was 
achieved  in  retreat. 

During  Die's  illness  Tom's  heart,  quickened  doubtless 
by  jealousy,  had  grown  more  and  more  to  yearn  for  Sukey's 
manifold  charms,  physical  and  temperamental.  Billy  Little, 
who  did  not  like  Sukey,  said  her  charms  were  "  dimple- 
mental  " ;  but  Billy's  heart  was  filled  with  many  curious 
prejudices,  and  Tom's  judgment  was  much  more  to  be  re 
lied  upon  in  this  case. 

One  morning  when  Sukey  entered  Die's  room  she  said : 
"  Tom  was  to  see  me  last  night.  He  said  he  would  come 
up  to  see  you  to-day." 

"  He  meant  that  he  will  come  up  to  see  you,"  replied 
Die,  teasing  her.  "  One  of  these  times  I'll  lose  another 
friend  to  Indianapolis,  and  when  I  go  up  there  with  my 
country  ways  you  won't  know  me." 

"I'll  never  go  to  Indianapolis,"  Sukey  responded,  with 
a  demure  glance.  "  Dear  old  Blue  is  good  enough  for  me. 
The  nearer  I  can  live  to  it,  the  better  I  shall  be  satisfied." 
Die's  lands  were  on  the  river  banks,  while  those  of  Sukey's 
father  were  a  mile  to  the  east. 

"  If  you  lived  too  close  to  the  river,  you  might  fall  in," 
returned  Die,  choosing  to  take  Sukey's  remark  in  jest. 

"  I'm  neither  sugar  nor  salt,"  she  retorted,  "  and  I  would 
not  melt.  I'm  sure  I'm  not  sugar  — 

"  But  sugarish,"  interrupted  Die. 

"  You  don't  think  I'm  even  sugarish,"  she  returned 
poutingly. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  he  replied ;  "  but  you  must  not  tell  Tom 
I  said  so." 

"Why  not?"  asked    Sukey.     "He's  nothing  to  me  — 
simply  a  friend." 


264  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

So  the  conversation  would  run,  and  Sukey,  by  judicious 
fishing,  caught  a  minnow  now  and  then. 

During  the  latter  days  of  Die's  convalescence,  Sukey 
paid  a  visit  to  her  friend  Rita,  and  the  girls  from  Blue 
attracted  the  beaux  of  the  capital  city  in  great  numbers. 
For  the  first  time  in  Sukey's  life  she  felt  that  she  had 
found  a  battle-field  worthy  of  her  prowess,  and  in  truth 
she  really  did  great  slaughter.  Balls,  hay  rides,  autumn 
picnics,  and  nutting  parties  occurred  in  rapid  succession. 
Tom  and  Williams  were,  of  course,  as  Tom  expressed  it, 
"Johnny  on  the  spot,"  with  our  girls. 

After  Rita's  stormy  interview  with  Williams  she  had, 
through  fear,  continued  to  receive  him  in  friendliness.  At 
first  the  friendliness  was  all  assumed;  but  as  the  weeks 
passed,  and  he,  by  every  possible  means,  assured  her  that 
his  rash  act  was  sincerely  repented,  and  under  no  conditions 
was  to  be  repeated,  she  gradually  recovered  her  faith  in  him. 
Her  heart  was  so  prone  to  forgive  that  it  was  an  easy  task 
to  impose  upon  it,  and  soon  Williams,  the  Greek,  was  again 
encamped  within  the  walls  of  trusting  Troy.  He  frequently 
devoted  himself  to  other  young  ladies,  and  our  guileless 
little  heroine  joyfully  reached  the  conclusion  that  she  no 
longer  reigned  queen  of  his  cultured  heart.  For  this  reason 
she  became  genuinely  kind  to  him,  and  he  accordingly  gave 
her  much  of  his  company  during  the  month  of  Sukey's 
visit. 

One  day  a  nutting  party,  including  our  four  friends,  set 
forth  on  their  way  up  White  River.  At  the  mouth  of  Fall 
Creek  was  a  gypsy  camp,  and  the  young  folks  stopped  to 
have  their  fortunes  told.  The  camp  consisted  of  a  dozen 
covered  wagons,  each  containing  a  bed,  a  stove,  and  cook 
ing  utensils.  To  each  wagon  belonged  a  woman  who  was 
able  and  anxious  to  foretell  the  future  for  the  small  sum  of 
two  bits.  Our  friends  selected  the  woman  who  was  oldest 


THE   LOVE    POWDER  265 

and  ugliest,  those  qualities  having  long  been  looked  upon 
as  attributes  of  wisdom.  Rita,  going  first,  climbed  over  the 
front  wheel  of  the  ugliest  old  woman's  covered  wagon,  and 
entered  the  temple  of  its  high  priestess.  The  front  curtain 
was  then  drawn.  The  interior  of  the  wagon  was  darkened, 
and  the  candle  in  a  small  red  lantern  was  lighted.  The 
hag  took  a  cage  from  the  top  of  the  wagon  where  it  had 
been  suspended,  and  when  she  opened  the  door  a  small 
screech  owl  emerged  and  perched  upon  the  shoulders  of  its 
mistress.  There  it  fluttered  its  wings  and  at  short  inter 
vals  gave  forth  a  smothered  screech,  allowing  the  noise  to 
die  away  in  its  throat  in  a  series  of  disagreeable  gurgles. 
When  the  owl  was  seated  upon  the  hag's  shoulder,  she 
took  from  a  box  a  half -torpid  snake,  and  entwined  it  about 
her  neck.  With  the  help  of  these  symbols  of  wisdom  and 
cunning  she  at  once  began  to  evoke  her  familiar  spirits. 
To  this  end  she  made  weird  passes  through  the  air  with 
her  clawlike  hands,  crying  in  a  whispered,  high-pitched 
wail  the  word,  "  Labbayk,  labbayk,"  an  Arabian  word 
meaning  "  Here  am  I." 

Rita  was  soon  trembling  with  fright,  and  begged  the 
hag  to  allow  her  to  leave  the  wagon. 

"  Sit  where  you  are,  girl,"  commanded  the  gypsy  in 
sepulchral  tones.  "  If  you  attempt  to  pass,  the  snake  will 
strike  you  and  the  owl  will  tear  you.  The  spirit  of  wisdom 
is  in  our  presence.  The  Stone  God  has  already  told  me 
your  fate.  It  is  worth  your  while  to  hear  it." 

Rita  placed  her  trembling  hand  in  the  hag's  claw. 

"  No  purer  woman  ever  lived  than  you,"  began  the 
sorceress ;  "  but  if  you  marry  the  dark  man  who  awaits 
you  outside,  you  will  become  evil ;  you  will  be  untrue  to 
him ;  you  will  soon  leave  him  in  company  with  another 
man  who  is  light  of  complexion,  tall,  and  strong.  Dis 
grace  and  ruin  await  your  family  if  you  marry  the  light 
man.  Even  the  Stone  God  cannot  foretell  a  woman's 


266  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

course  when  love  draws  her  in  opposite  directions.  May 
the  Stone  God  pity  you." 

The  hag's  ominous  words,  fitting  so  marvellously  the 
real  situation,  frightened  Rita  and  she  cried,  "  Please  let 
me  out,"  but  the  gypsy  held  her  hand,  saying :  — 

"  Sit  still,  ye  fool ;  sit  and  listen.  For  one  shilling  I 
will  teach  you  a  spell  which  you  may  throw  over  the  man 
you  despise,  and  he  will  wither  and  die  ;  then  you  may 
marry  the  one  of  your  choice,  and  all  evil  shall  be 
averted." 

"  No,  no ! "  screamed  the  girl,  rising  to  her  feet  and  forc 
ing  her  way  to  the  front  of  the  wagon.  In  passing  the 
witch  she  stumbled,  and  in  falling,  grasped  the  snake. 
The  owl  screeched,  and  Rita  sprang  screaming  from  the 
wagon-seat  to  the  ground. 

Sukey's  turn  came  next,  and  although  Rita  begged  her 
not  to  enter  the  gypsy's  den,  our  lady  of  the  dimples 
climbed  over  the  front  wheel,  eager  for  forbidden  fruit. 

The  hideous  witch,  the  owl,  and  the  snake  for  a  moment 
frightened  Sukey ;  but  she,  true  daughter  of  Eve,  hungered 
for  apples,  and  was  determined  to  eat. 

After  foretelling  numerous  journeys,  disappointments, 
and  pleasures  which  would  befall  Sukey,  the  gypsy  said  :  — 

"  You  have  many  admirers,  but  there  is  one  that  re 
mains  indifferent  to  your  charms.  You  may  win  him, 
girl,  if  you  wish." 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Sukey,  with  eagerness. 

"  I  can  give  you  a  love  powder  by  which  you  may  cause 
him  to  love  you.  I  cannot  sell  it ;  but  a  gift  for  a  gift 
is  no  barter.  If  you  will  give  me  gold,  I  will  give  you  the 
powder." 

"  I  have  no  money  with  me,"  answered  Sukey  ;  "  but 
I  will  come  to-morrow  and  bring  you  a  gold  piece." 

"  It  must  be  gold,"  said  the  hag,  feeling  sure  of  her 
prey.  "A  gift  of  baser  metal  woujjl  kill  the  charm." 


THE   LOVE    POWDER  267 

"  I  will  bring  gold,"  answered  Sukey.  Laden  with  for 
bidden  knowledge  and  hope,  she  sprang  from  the  front 
wheel  into  Tom's  arms,  and  was  very  happy. 

That  night  she  asked  Rita,  "  Have  you  a  gold  dollar?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Rita,  hesitatingly,  "  I  have  a  gold  dollar 
and  three  shillings.  I'm  saving  my  money  until  Christ 
mas.  I  want  five  dollars  to  buy  a  — "  She  stopped 
speaking,  not  caring  to  tell  that  she  had  for  months  been 
keeping  her  eyes  on  a  trinket  for  Die.  "  I  am  not 
accumulating  very  rapidly,"  she  continued  laughing,  "and 
am  beginning  to  fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to  save  that  much 
by  Christmas." 

"  Will  you  loan  it  to  me  —  the  gold  dollar  ? "  asked 
Sukey. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Rita,  somewhat  reluctantly,  having 
doubts  of  Sukey's  intention  and  ability  to  repay.  But  she 
handed  over  the  gold  dollar  with  which  the  borrower 
hoped  to  steal  the  lender's  lover. 

Next  day  Sukey  asked  Tom  to  drive  her  to  the  gypsy 
camp,  but  she  did  not  explain  that  her  purpose  was  to  buy 
a  love  powder  with  which  she  hoped  to  win  another  man. 
Sukey,  with  all  her  amiable  disposition,  — •  Billy  Little  used 
to  say  she  was  as  good-natured  as  a  hound  pup,  —  was  a 
girl  who  could  kiss  your  lips,  gaze  innocently  into  your 
eyes,  and  betray  you  to  Caesar,  all  unconscious  of  her  own 
perfidy.  Rita  was  her  friend.  Still  she  unblushingly  bor 
rowed  her  money,  hoping  therewith  to  steal  Die.  Tom 
was  her  encouraged  lover ;  still  she  wished  him  to  help 
her  in  obtaining  the  love  powder  by  which  she  might  ac 
quire  the  love  of  another  man.  Sukey  was  generous  ;  but 
the  world  and  the  people  thereof  were  made  for  her  use, 
and  she,  of  course,  would  use  them.  She  did  not  know 
she  was  false  —  but  why  should  I  dwell  upon  poor  Sukey's 
peccadilloes  as  if  she  were  the  only  sinner,  or  responsible 
for  her  sins  ?  Who  is  responsible  for  either  sin  or  virtue  ? 


268  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Rita  deserved  no  praise  for  being  true,  pure,  gentle,  and 
unselfish.  Those  qualities  were  given  with  her  heart. 
The  Chief  Justice  should  not  be  censured  because  she 
held  peculiar  theories  of  equity  and  looked  upon  the 
words  "  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us  "  as 
mere  surplusage.  She  was  born  with  her  theories  and 
opinions.  Sukey  should  not  be  blamed  because  of  her 
dimples  and  her  too  complacent  smiles.  For  what  pur 
pose  were  dimples  and  smiles  created  save  to  give  pleas 
ure,  and  incidentally  to  cause  trouble  ?  But  I  promise 
there  shall  be  no  more  philosophizing  for  many  pages  to 
come. 

Sukey,  by  the  help  of  Tom  and  Rita,  purchased  her 
love  powder,  and,  being  eager  to  administer  it,  informed 
Rita  that  evening  that  she  intended  to  return  home  next 
morning.  Accordingly,  she  departed,  leaving  Rita  to 
receive  alone  the  attentions  of  her  persistent  lover. 

Within  a  week  or  two  after  Sukey's  return,  Die,  having 
almost  recovered,  went  to  see  Rita.  He  was  not  able  to 
go  a-horseback,  so  he  determined  to  take  the  stage,  and 
Billy  Little  went  with  him  as  body-guard. 

While  they  waited  for  the  coach  in  Billy's  back  room, 
Williams  became  the  topic  of  conversation. 

"  He  will  marry  Rita  in  spite  of  you,"  said  Billy,  "if  you 
don't  take  her  soon.  What  do  you  say  ?  Shall  we  bring 
her  home  with  us  to-morrow  ?  She  was  eighteen  last 
week."  Billy  was  eager  to  carry  off  the  girl,  for  he  knew 
the  Williams  danger,  and  stood  in  dread  of  it.  Die  sprang 
from  his  chair,  delighted  with  the  proposition.  The 
thought  of  possessing  Rita  to-morrow  carried  with  it  a 
flood  of  rapturous  emotions. 

"How  can  we  bring  her?"  he  asked.  "We  can't  kid 
nap  her  from  her  mother." 

"  Perhaps  Rita  may  be  induced  to  kidnap  herself," 
remarked  Billy.  "  If  we  furnish  the  plan,  do  you  believe 


THE   LOVE    POWDER  269 

Rita  will  furnish  the  girl  ?  Will  she  come  with  us  ?"  You 
see  Billy,  as  well  as  Die,  was  eloping  with  this  young  lady. 

"  Yes,  she  will  come  when  I  ask  her,"  returned  Die, 
with  confidence. 

After  staring  at  the  young  man  during  a  full  minute, 
Billy  said :  "  I  am  afraid  all  my  labor  upon  you  has  been 
wasted.  If  you  are  so  great  a  fool  as  not — do  you  mean 
to  say  you  have  never  asked  her  to  go  with  you  —  run 
away  —  elope  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  asked  her  to  elope,"  returned  Die,  with 
an  expression  of  doubt  in  his  face.  Billy's  words  had 
aroused  him  to  a  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  he  was  not 
at  all  the  man  for  this  situation. 

"You  understand  it  is  this  way,"  continued  Die,  in 
explanation  of  his  singular  neglect.  "  Rita  does  not  see 
her  mother  with  our  eyes.  She  believes  her  to  be  a  per 
fect  woman.  She  believes  every  one  is  good ;  but  her 
mother  has,  for  so  many  years,  sounded  the  clarion  of 
her  own  virtues,  that  Rita  takes  the  old  woman  at  her 
own  valuation,  and  holds  her  to  be  a  saint  in  virtue,  and 
a  feminine  Solomon  in  wisdom.  Rita  believes  her  mother 
the  acme  of  intelligent,  protecting  kindness,  and  looks 
upon  her  cruelty  as  the  result  of  parental  love,  meant 
entirely  for  the  daughter's  own  good.  I  have  not  wanted 
to  pain  my  future  wife  by  causing  a  break  with  her  mother. 
Should  Rita  run  off  with  me,  there  would  be  no  forgiveness 
for  her  in  the  breast  of  Justice." 

"The  girl,  doubtless,  could  live  happily  without  it,"  an 
swered  Billy. 

"  Not  entirely  happy,"  returned  Die.  "  She  would  grieve. 
You  don't  know  what  a  tender  heart  it  is,  Billy  Little. 
There  is  not  another  like  it  in  all  the  world.  Had  it  not 
been  for  that  consideration,  I  would  have  been  selfish  enough 
to  bring  her  home  with  me  when  she  offered  to  come,  and 
would  —  " 


270  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  Mighty  Moses ! "  cried  Billy,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"  She  offered  to  go  with  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Die ;  "  she  said  when  last  I  saw  her,  '  You 
should  have  taken  me  long  ago.' " 

"  And — and  you  "  —  Billy  paused  for  breath  and  danced 
excitedly  about  the  room  —  "and  you  did  not — you  —  you, 
oh  —  Maxwelton's  braes  —  and  you —  Ah,  well,  there  is 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  talking  to  you  upon  that  subject. 
What  do  you  think  of  the  administration  ?  Jackson  is  a 
hickory  blockhead,  eh  ?  Congress  a  stupendous  aggrega 
tion  of  asses.  Yes,  everybody  is  an  ass,  of  course ;  but  there 
is  one  who  is  monumental.  Monumental,  I  say.  Monu  — 
ah,  well  —  Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonny  —  um  —  um  —  um 
—  um  —  damn  !  "  And  Billy  sat  down  disgusted,  turning 
his  face  from  Die. 

After  a  long  pause  Die  spoke :  "  I  believe  you  are  right, 
Billy  Little.  I  should  have  brought  her." 

"  Believe  —  "  cried  the  angry  little  friend.  "  Don't  you 
know  it  ?  The  pons  asinorum  is  a  mere  hypothesis  com 
pared  to  the  demonstration  in  this  case." 

"  But  she  was  not  of  age,  and  could  not  marry  without 
her  parents'  consent,"  said  Die.  "  Had  I  brought  her  home, 
we  could  have  found  no  one  to  perform  the  ceremony." 

"  I  would  have  done  it  quickly  enough  ;  I  am  a  justice  of 
the  peace.  I  could  have  done  it  as  well  as  forty  preachers. 
I  should  have  been  fined  for  transgressing  the  law  in  marry 
ing  you  without  a  license,  but  I  would  have  done  it,  and  it 
would  have  been  as  legal  as  if  it  had  taken  place  in  a  cathe 
dral.  We  could  have  paid  the  fine  between  us." 

"  Well,  what's  to  be  done  ?  "  asked  Die,  after  a  long,  awk 
ward  pause.  "  It's  not  too  late." 

"  Yes,  it's  too  late,"  answered  Billy.  "  I  wash  my  hands 
of  the  whole  affair.  When  a  man  can  get  a  girl  like  Rita, 
and  throws  away  his  chance,  he's  beyond  hope.  I  supposed 
you  had  bought  her  for  twenty-six  hundred  dollars  —  you 


THE    LOVE    POWDER  271 

will  never  see  a  penny  of  it  again  —  and  a  bargain  at  the 
price.  She  is  worth  twenty-six  hundred  million  ;  but  if  you 
could  not  buy  her,  you  should  have  borrowed,  stolen,  kid 
napped  —  anything  to  get  her.  Now  what  do  you  think  of 
yourself? " 

"  Not  much,  Billy  Little,  not  much,"  answered  Die,  regret 
fully.  "  But  you  should  have  said  all  this  to  me  long 
ago.  Advice  after  the  fact  is  like  meat  after  a  feast  — 
distasteful." 

"  Ah,  you  are  growing  quite  epigrammatic,"  said  Billy, 
snappishly ;  "  but  there  is  some  truth  in  your  contention. 
We  will  begin  again.  When  we  see  Rita,  we  will  formulate 
a  plan  and  try  to  thwart  Justice." 

"What  plan  have  you  in  mind?"  asked  Die,  eager  to 
discuss  the  subject. 

"  I  have  none,"  Billy  replied.  "  Rita  will  perhaps  fur 
nish  both  the  plan  and  the  girl." 

Die  did  not  relish  the  suggestion  that  Rita  would  be  will 
ing  to  take  so  active  a  part  in  the  transaction,  and  said :  — 

"  I  fear  you  do  not  know  Rita.  She  is  not  bold  enough 
to  do  what  you  hope.  If  she  will  come  with  us,  it  will  be 
all  I  can  expect.  We  must  do  the  planning." 

"  You  say  she  offered  to  come  with  you  ? "  asked  Billy. 

"Y-e-s,"  responded  Die,  hesitatingly;  "but  she  is  the 
most  timid  of  girls,  and  we  shall  need  to  be  very  persua 
sive  if  —  " 

Billy  laughed  and  interrupted  him  :  "  All  theory,  Die ; 
all  theory  and  wrong.  'Deed,  if  I  knew  you  were  such  a 
fool !  The  gentlest  and  most  guileless  of  women  are  the 
bravest  and  boldest  under  the  stress  of  a  great  motive. 
The  woman  who  is  capable  of  great  love  is  sure  also  to 
have  the  capacity  for  great  courage.  I  know  Rita  better 
than  you  suppose,  and,  mark  my  words,  she  will  furnish 
both  the  plan  and  the  girl ;  and  if  you  grow  supercilious, 
egad!  I'll  take  her  myself." 


272  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

"  I'll  not  grow  supercilious.  She  is  perfect,  and  any 
thing  she'll  do  will  be  all  right.  I  can't  believe  she  is  really 
to  be  mine.  It  seems  more  like  a  castle  in  the  air  than  a 
real  fact." 

"  It  is  not  a  fact  yet,"  returned  Billy,  croakingly ;  "  and  if 
this  trip  doesn't  make  it  a  fact,  I  venture  to  prophesy  you 
will  have  an  un tenanted  aerial  structure  on  your  hands 
before  long." 

"  You  don't  believe  anything  of  the  sort,  Billy  Little," 
said  Die.  "I  can't  lose  her.  It  couldn't  happen.  It 
couldn't." 

"  We'll  see.  There's  the  stage  horn.  Let  us  hurry  out 
and  get  an  inside  seat.  The  sky  looks  overcast,  and  I 
shouldn't  like  to  have  this  coat  rained  upon.  There's  a 
fine  piece  of  cloth,  Die.  Feel  it."  Die  complied.  "Soft 
as  silk,  isn't  it? "  continued  Billy.  "  They  don't  make  such 
cloth  in  these  days  of  flimsy  woolsey.  Got  it  thirty  years 
ago  from  the  famous  Schwitzer  on  Cork  Street.  Tailor 
shop  there  for  ages.  Small  shop  —  dingy  little  hole,  but 
that  man  Schwitzer  was  an  artist.  Made  garments  for  all 
the  beaux.  Brummel  used  to  draw  his  own  patterns  in 
that  shop  —  in  that  very  shop,  Die.  Think  of  wearing  a 
coat  made  by  Brummers  tailor.  Remarkable  man  that, 
Brummel  —  George  Bryan  Brummel.  Good  head,  full  of 
good  brains.  Son  of  a  confectioner;  friend  of  a  prince. 
Upon  one  occasion  the  Prince  of  Wales  wept  because 
Brummel  made  sport  of  his  coat.  Yes,  egad !  blubbered. 
I  used  to  know  him  well.  Knew  the  '  First  Gentleman '  of 
Europe,  too,  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Won  a  thousand  and 
eleven  pounds  from  Brummel  one  night  at  v/nist.  He 
paid  the  eleven  and  still  owes  the  thousand.  Had  a  letter 
from  him  less  than  a  year  ago,  saying  he  hoped  to  pay  me 
some  day ;  but  bless  your  soul,  Die,  he'll  never  be  able  to 
pay  a  farthing.  He's  in  France  now,  because  he  owes 
nearly  every  one  in  England.  Fine  gentleman,  though, 


THE   LOVE   POWDER  273 

fine  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him.  Well,  this  coat  was 
made  by  his  tailor.  You  don't  blame  me  for  taking  good 
care  of  it,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Indeed  not,"  answered  Die,  amused,  though  in  sym 
pathy  with  Beau  Brummel's  friend. 

"  I  have  two  vests  in  my  trunk  by  the  same  artist," 
continued  Billy.  "  I  don't  wear  them  now.  They  won't 
button  over  my  front.  I'll  show  them  to  you  some  day." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  our  friends  stepped 
into  the  stage  coach.  Others  being  present,  Billy  was 
silent  as  an  owl  at  noonday.  With  one  or  two  sympathetic 
listeners  Billy  was  a  magpie  ;  with  many,  he  was  a  stork  — 
he  loved  companionship,  but  hated  company. 

Arriving  at  Indianapolis,  our  worthy  kidnappers  sought 
the  house  of  unsuspecting  Justice,  and  were  received  with 
a  frigid  dignity  becoming  that  stern  goddess.  Die,  wish 
ing  to  surprise  Rita,  had  not  informed  her  of  his  intended 
visit.  After  waiting  a  few  minutes  he  asked,  "  Where  is 
Rita?" 

"  She  is  sick,"  responded  Mrs.  Bays.  "  She  has  not 
been  out  of  her  bed  for  three  days;  We  have  had  two 
doctors  with  her.  She  took  seven  different  kinds  of  medi 
cine  all  yesterday,  and  to-day  she  has  been  very  bad." 

"  No  wonder,"  remarked  Billy  ;  "  it's  a  miracle  she  isn't 
dead.  Seven  different  kinds  !  It's  enough  to  have  killed 
a  horse.  Fortunately  she  is  young  and  very  strong." 

"Well,  I'm  sure  she  would  have  died  without  them," 
answered  Mrs.  Bays. 

"  You  believe  six  different  kinds  would  not  have  saved 
her,  eh  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

"  Something  saved  her.  It  must  have  been  the  medi 
cine,"  replied  Mrs.  Bays,  partly  unconscious  of  Billy's 
irony.  She  was  one  of  the  many  millions  who  always 
accept  the  current  humbug  in  whatever  form  he  comes. 
Let  us  not,  however,  speak  lightly  of  the  humble  humbug. 


274  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Have  you  ever  considered  how  empty  this  world  would  be 
without  his  cheering  presence  ?  You  notice  I  give  the 
noun  "  humbug "  the  masculine  gender.  The  feminine 
members  of  our  race  have  faults,  but  great,  monumental, 
world-pervading  humbugs  are  masculine,  one  and  all,  from 
the  old-time  witch  doctor  and  Druid  priest  down  to  the  — 
but  Mrs.  Bays  was  speaking  :  — 

"  The  doctors  worked  with  her  for  four  hours  last  night, 
and  when  they  left  she  was  almost  dead." 

"  Almost  ?  "  interrupted  Billy.     "  Fortunate  girl !  " 

"  I  hope  I  may  see  her,"  asked  Die,  timidly. 

"  No,  you  can't,"  replied  Mrs.  Bays  with  firmness. 
"  She's  in  bed,  and  I  hardly  think  it  would  be  the  proper 
thing." 

"  Die  !  "  called  a  weak  little  voice  from  the  box  stairway 
leading  from  the  room  above.  "  Die  !  "  And  that  young 
man  sprang  to  the  stairway  door  with  evident  intent  to 
mount.  Mrs.  Bays  hurried  after  him,  crying :  — 

"You  shall  not  go  up  there.  She's  in  bed,  I  tell  you. 
You  can't  see  her." 

Billy  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  behind  her.  When  Die 
stopped,  at  the  command  of  Mrs.  Bays,  Billy  made  an  im 
patient  gesture  and  pointed  to  the  room  above,  emphasiz 
ing  the  movement  with  a  look  that  plainly  said,  "  Go  on, 
you  fool,"  and  Die  went. 

Mrs.  Bays  turned  quickly  upon  Billy,  but  his  pale  coun 
tenance  was  as  expressionless  as  usual,  and  he  was  examin 
ing  his  finger  tips  with  such  care  one  might  have  supposed 
them  to  be  rare  natural  curiosities. 

"  Ah,  Die,"  cried  the  same  little  voice  from  the  bed,  when 
that  young  man  entered  the  room,  and  two  white  arms,  from 
which  the  sleeves  had  fallen  back,  were  held  out  to  him  as 
the  pearly  gates  might  open  to  a  wandering  soul. 

Die  knelt  by  the  bedside,  and  the  white  arms  entwined 
themselves  about  his  neck,  He  spoke  to  her  rapturously, 


THE    LOVE    POWDER  275 

and  placed  his  cool  cheek  against  her  feverish  face.  Then  the 
room  grew  dark  to  the  girl,  her  eyes  closed,  and  she  fainted. 

Die  thought  she  was  dead,  and  in  an  agony  of  alarm 
placed  his  ear  to  her  heart,  hoping  to  hear  its  beating.  No 
human  motive  could  have  been  purer  than  Die's.  Of 
that  fact  I  know  you  are  sure,  else  I  have  written  of  him 
in  vain ;  but  when  Mrs.  Bays  entered  the  room  and  saw 
him,  she  was  pleased  to  cry  out :  — 

"  Help  !  help  !  he  has  insulted  my  daughter." 

Billy  mounted  the  stairway  in  three  jumps,  a  feat  he  had 
not  performed  in  twenty  years,  and  when  he  entered  the 
room  Mrs.  Bays  pointed  majestically  to  the  man  kneeling 
by  Rita's  bed. 

"  Take  that  man  from  my  house,  Mr.  Little,"  cried  Mrs. 
Bays  in  a  sepulchral,  judicial  tone  of  voice.  "He  broke 
into  her  room  and  insulted  my  sick  daughter  when  she 
was  unconscious." 

Die  remained  upon  his  knees  by  the  bedside,  and  did 
not  fully  grasp  the  meaning  of  his  accuser's  words.  Billy 
stepped  to  Rita's  side,  and  taking  her  unresisting  hand 
hastily  sought  her  pulse.  Then  he  spoke  gruffly  to  Mrs. 
Bays,  who  had  wrought  herself  into  a  spasm  of  injured 
virtue. 

"She  has  fainted,"  cried  Billy.  "Fetch  cold  water 
quickly,  and  a  drop  of  whiskey." 

Mrs.  Bays  hastened  downstairs,  and  Die  followed  her. 

"  Get  the  whiskey,"  he  cried.  "  I'll  fetch  the  water," 
and  a  few  seconds  thereafter  Billy  was  dashing  cold  water 
in  Rita's  face.  The  great  brown  eyes  opened,  and  the 
half-conscious  girl,  thinking  that  Die  was  still  leaning  over 
her,  lifted  her  arms  and  gave  poor  old  Billy  a  moment  in 
paradise,  by  entwining  them  about  his  neck.  He  enjoyed 
the  delicious  sensation  for  a  brief  instant,  and  said:  — 

"I'm  Billy  Little,  Rita,  not  Die."  Then  the  eyes 
opened  wider  as  consciousness  returned,  and  she  said  :  — 


276  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

"  I  thought  Die  was  here." 

"Yes  —  yes,  Rita,"  said  Die,  "I  am  here.  I  was  by 
your  side  a  moment  since.  I  came  so  suddenly  upon  you 
that  you  fainted  ;  then  Billy  Little  took  my  place." 

"  And  you  thought  I  was  Die,"  said  Billy,  laughingly. 

"  I'm  glad  I  did,"  answered  the  girl  with  a  rare  smile, 
again  placing  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  drawing  his  face 
down  to  hers ;  "  for  I  love  you  also  very,  very  dearly." 
Billy's  heart  sprang  backward  thirty  years,  and  thumped 
away  astonishingly.  At  that  moment  Mrs.  Bays  returned 
with  the  whiskey,  and  Billy  prepared  a  mild  toddy. 

"  The  doctor  said  she  must  not  have  whiskey  while  the 
fever  lasts,"  interposed  Mrs.  Bays. 

"We'll  try  it  once,"  replied  Billy,  "and  if  it  kills  her, 
we'll  not  try  it  again.  Here,  Rita,  take  a  spoonful  of 
this." 

Die  lifted  her  head,  and  Billy  administered  the  deadly 
potion,  while  the  humbug  lover  stood  by,  confidently  ex 
pecting  dire  results,  but  too  much  subdued  by  the  situation 
to  interpose  an  objection. 

Soon  Rita  asked  that  two  pillows  be  placed  under  her 
head,  and,  sitting  almost  upright  in  bed,  declared  she  felt 
better  than  for  several  days. 

Mrs.  Bays  knew  that  Die's  motive  had  been  pure  and 
spotless,  but  she  had  no  intention  of  relinquishing  the 
advantage  of  her  false  position.  She  had  for  months  been 
seeking  an  excuse  to  turn  Die  from  her  house,  and  now 
that  it  had  come,  she  would  not  lose  it.  Going  to  Rita's 
side,  she  again  took  up  her  theme :  — 

"  No  wonder  my  poor  sick  daughter  fainted  when  she 
was  insulted.  I  can't  tell  you,  Mr.  Little,  what  I  saw  when 
I  entered  this  room." 

"Oh,  mother,"  cried  Rita,  "you  were  wrong.  You  do 
not  understand.  When  I  saw  Die,  I  held  up  my  arms  to 
him,  and  he  came  to  me  because  I  wanted  him." 


THE    LOVE   POWDER  277 

"You  don't  know,  my  daughter,  you  don't  know,"  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Bays.  "  I  would  not  have  you  know.  But  I 
will  protect  my  daughter,  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  against 
insult  at  the  cost  of  my  life,  if  need  be.  I  have  devoted 
my  life  to  her ;  I  have  toiled  and  suffered  for  her  since  I 
gave  her  birth,  and  no  man  shall  enter  my  house  and  insult 
her  while  I  have  strength  to  protect  her."  She  gathered 
force  while  she  spoke,  and  talked  herself  into  believing 
what  she  knew  was  false,  as  you  and  I  may  easily  do  in 
very  important  matters  if  we  try. 

"  My  dear  woman,"  said  Billy,  in  surprise  bordering  on 
consternation,  "  you  don't  mean  you  wish  us  to  believe  that 
you  believe  that  Die  insulted  Rita  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  insult  her.     I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes." 

"In  what  manner?  "  demanded  Die. 

He  was  beginning  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  her  accusa 
tion,  and  was  breathing  heavily  from  suppressed  excitement. 
Before  she  could  reply  he  fully  understood,  and  a  wave  of 
just  anger  swept  over  him. 

"  Old  woman,  you  know  you  lie  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  revere 
the  tips  of  Rita's  fingers,  and  no  unholy  thought  of  her  has 
ever  entered  my  mind.  /  insult  her !  You  boast  of  your 
mother's  love.  You  have  no  love  for  her  of  any  sort. 
You  have  given  her  nothing  but  hard,  cold  cruelty  all  her 
life  under  the  pretence  —  perhaps  belief  —  that  you  were 
kind ;  but  if  your  love  were  the  essence  of  mother  love,  it 
would  be  as  nothing  compared  to  my  man's  love  for  the 
girl  who  will  one  day  be  my  wife  and  bear  my  children." 

The  frightened  old  woman  shrank  from  Die  and  silently 
took  a  chair  by  the  window.  Then  Die  turned  to  the  bed, 
saying :  — 

"  Forgive  me,  Rita,  forgive  me.  I  was  almost  beside 
myself  for  a  moment.  Tell  me  that  you  know  I  would  not 
harm  you." 

"  Of  course  you  would  do  me  no  harm,"  she  replied  sob- 


278  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

bing.  "  You  could  not.  You  would  be  harming  yourself. 
But  how  could  you  speak  so  violently  to  my  mother  ?  You 
were  terrible,  and  I  was  frightened.  How  could  you  ? 
How  could  you  ? " 

"  I  was  wild  with  anger  —  but  I  will  explain  to  you  some 
day  when  you  are  my  wife.  I  will  not  remain  in  this  house. 
I  must  not  remain,  but  I  will  come  to  you  when  you  are 
well.  You  will  write  me,  and  I  will  come.  You  want  me, 
don't  you,  Rita?" 

"  As  I  want  nothing  else  in  all  the  world,"  she  whispered, 
taking  his  face  between  her  hands. 

"  And  you  still  love  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ah,"  was  her  only  reply ;  but  the  monosyllable  was 
eloquent. 

Die  at  once  left  the  house,  but  Billy  Little  remained. 

"  I  never  in  all  my  life !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bays,  rising 
from  her  chair.  Billy  did  not  comprehend  the  exact  mean 
ing  of  her  mystic  words,  but  in  a  general  way  supposed 
they  referred  to  her  recent  experiences  as  unusual. 

"  You  were  mistaken,  Mrs.  Bays,"  he  said.  "  Die  could 
not  offer  insult  to  your  daughter.  You  were  mistaken." 

"  I  guess  I  was,"  she  replied ;  "  I  guess  I  was,  but  I 
never,  I  never  in  all  my  life ! " 

The  old  woman  was  terribly  shaken  up ;  but  when  Billy 
took  his  departure,  her  faculties  returned  with  more  than 
pristine  vigor,  and  poor,  sick  Rita,  as  usual,  fell  a  victim 
to  her  restored  powers  of  invective. 

Mrs.  Bays  shed  no  tears.  The  salt  in  her  nature  was 
not  held  in  solution,  but  was  a  rock  formation  from  which 
tears  could  not  easily  be  distilled. 

"  I  have  nursed  you  through  sickness,"  she  said,  turning 
upon  Rita  with  an  indignant,  injured  air.  "  I  have  toiled 
for  you,  suffered  for  you,  prayed  for  you.  I  have  done  my 
duty  by  you  if  mother  ever  did  duty  by  child,  and  now  I 
am  insulted  for  your  sake ;  but  I  bear  it  all  with  a  contrite 


THE    LOVE   POWDER  279 

spirit  because  you  are  my  daughter,  though  God's  just 
hand  is  heavy  upon  me.  There  is  one  burden  I  will  bear 
no  longer.  You  must  give  up  that  man  —  that  brute,  who 
just  insulted  me." 

"  He  did  not  insult  you,  mother." 

"  He  did,  and  nothing  but  God's  protecting  grace  saved 
me  from  bodily  harm  in  my  own  house  while  protecting 
my  daughter's  honor." 

"  But,  mother,"  cried  Rita,  weeping,  "  you  are  wrong.  If 
there  was  any  wrong,  it  was  I  who  did  it." 

"  You  don't  know  !  Oh,  that  I  should  live  to  see  what  I 
did  see,  and  endure  what  I  have  endured  this  day  for  the 
sake  of  an  ungrateful  daughter  —  oh,  sharper  than  a  ser 
pent's  tooth,  as  the  good  book  says  —  to  be  insulted — I 
never  !  I  never !  " 

Rita,  of  course,  had  been  weeping  during  her  mother's 
harangue ;  but  when  the  old  woman  took  up  her  meaning 
less  refrain,  "  I  never !  I  never !  "  the  girl's  sobs  became 
almost  convulsive.  Mrs.  Bays  saw  her  advantage  and 
determined  not  to  lose  it. 

"Promise  me,"  demanded  this  tender  mother,  rudely  shak 
ing  the  girl,  "promise  me  you  will  never  speak  to  him  again." 

Rita  did  not  answer  —  she  could  not,  and  the  demand 
was  repeated.  Still  Rita  answered  not. 

"If  you  don't  promise  me,  I'll  leave  your  bedside.  I'll 
never  speak  your  name  again." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  sobbed  the  girl,  "  I  beg  you  not  to  ask 
that  promise  of  me.  I  can't  give  it.  I  can't.  I  can't." 

"  Give  me  the  promise  this  instant,  or  I'll  disown  you. 
Do  you  promise  ?  " 

The  old  woman  bent  fiercely  over  her  daughter  and  waited 
stonily  for  an  answer.  Rita  shrank  from  her,  but  could  not 
resist  the  domineering  old  creature,  so  she  whispered :  — 

"Yes,  mother,  I  promise,"  and  the  world  seemed  to  be 
slipping  away  from  her  forever. 


THE   DIMPLER 


CHAPTER   XIII 
THE  DIMPLER 

BILLY  LITTLE  soon  found  Die  and  greeted  him 
with,  "Well,  we  haven't  got  her  yet." 
"  No,  but  when  she  recovers,  we  will  have  her. 
What  an  idiot  I  was  to  allow  that  old  woman  to  make  me 
angry ! " 

"You  are  right  for  once,  Die,"  was  Billy's  consoling 
reply.  "  She  has  been  waiting  for  an  excuse  to  turn  you 
from  her  doors,  and  you  furnished  it.  I  suppose  you  can 
never  enter  the  house  again." 

"  I  don't  want  to  enter  it,  unless  by  force  to  take  Rita. 
Why  didn't  I  take  her  long  ago  ?  It  serves  no  purpose  to 
call  myself  a  fool,  but  — 

"  Perhaps  it's  a  satisfaction,"  interrupted  Billy,  "  a  satis 
faction  to  discover  yourself  at  last.  Self-knowledge  is  the 
summit  of  all  wisdom." 

"Ah,  Billy  Little,  don't  torture  me;  I  am  suffering 
enough  as  it  is."  Billy  did  not  answer,  but  took  Die's 
hand  and  held  it  in  his  warm  clasp  for  a  little  time  as  they 
walked  in  silence  along  the  street. 

The  two  disconsolate  lovers  who  had  come  a-kidnapping 
remained  over  night  in  Indianapolis,  and  after  breakfast 
Billy  suggested  that  they  discuss  the  situation  in  detail. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  any  plan  whereby  you  may  com 
municate  with  Rita  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  answered  Die. 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  her  girl  friends  ?  " 

283 


284  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"The  very  thing!"  exclaimed  Die,  joyous  as  possible 
under  the  circumstances.  "  I'll  see  Miss  Tousy,  and  she 
will  help  us,  I'm  sure." 

"  Is  she  sentimentally  inclined  ?  "  queried  Billy. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Is  her  face  round  or  oval  ? " 

"  Oval,"  replied  Die,  in  some  perplexity. 

"  Long  oval  ?  " 

"  Rather." 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Billy.  "  Does  she  talk  much  or 
little?" 

"  Little,  save  at  times." 

"  And  her  voice  ?  " 

"  Low  and  soft." 

"Better  and  better,"  said  Billy.     "What  does  she  read?" 

"  She  loves  Shakespeare  and  Shelley." 

"Go  to  her  at  once,"  cried  Billy,  joyfully  "I'll  stake 
my  life  she'll  help.  Show  me  a  long  oval  face,  a  soft  voice 
speaking  little,  and  a  lover  of  poetry,  and  I'll  show  you  the 
right  sort  of  heart.  But  we  must  begin  at  once.  Buy  a 
new  stock,  Die,  and  have  your  shoes  polished.  Get  a  good 
pair  of  gloves,  and,  if  you  think  you  can  handle  it  properly, 
a  stick.  Fine  feathers  go  farther  in  making  fine  birds  than 
wise  men  suppose.  Too  much  wisdom  often  blinds  a  man 
to  small  truths  that  are  patent  to  a  fool.  I  wish  you  were 
small  enough  to  wear  my  coat." 

Die  congratulated  himself  upon  his  bulk,  but  he  took 
Billy's  advice  regarding  the  gloves  and  stock.  Billy  was 
a  relic  of  the  days  of  the  grand  beaux,  when  garments,  if 
they  did  not  make  the  man,  at  least  could  mar  the  gentle 
man,  and  held  his  faith  in  the  omnipotence  of  dress,  as  a 
heritage  from  his  youth  —  that  youth  which  was  almost  of 
another  world.  Die  was  one  of  the  few  men  whose  splen 
dor  of  person  did  not  require  the  adornments  of  dress. 
All  women  looked  upon  his  redolence  of  life  and  strength 


THE    DIMPLER  285 

with  pleasure,  and  soon  learned  to  respect  his  straightfor 
ward,  fearless  honesty.  Miss  Tousy  had  noted  Die's  quali 
ties  on  previous  occasions,  and  valued  him  accordingly. 
She  was  also  interested  in  Rita,  who  was  her  protegee; 
and  she  was  graciousness  itself  to  Die  that  day  as  she 
asked  him, 

"What  good  fortune  brings  you?" 

"  It  is  bad  fortune  brings  me,  I  am  sorry  to  say," 
returned  Die.  "  Yesterday  was  the  unluckiest  day  of  my 
life,  and  I  have  come  to  you  for  help." 

Miss  Tousy's  kind  heart  responded,  as  Billy  Little  had 
predicted. 

"  Then  your  ill  luck  is  my  good  fortune.  In  what  way 
can  I  help  you  ?  I  give  you  carte  blanche  ;  ask  what  you  will." 

"  I  will  not  hold  you  to  your  offer  until  I  tell  you  what 
I  want.  Then  you  may  refuse  if  you  feel  that —  " 

"  I'll  not  refuse,"  answered  the  kindly  young  lady. 
"Go  on." 

"You  know  that  Ri — ,  Miss  Bays,  is  —  has  been  for  a 
long  time  —  that  is,  has  promised  to  be  —  " 

"  I  know.     But  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  It's  a  long  story.     I'll  not  tell  you  all.     I  —  " 

"Yes,  tell  me  all  —  that  is,  if  you  wish.  I'm  eager  to 
hear  all,  even  to  the  minutest  details.  Don't  mind  if  the 
story  is  long."  And  she  settled  herself  comfortably  among 
the  cushions  to  hear  his  sentimental  narrative.  Die  very 
willingly  told  the  whole  story  of  yesterday's  woes,  and  Miss 
Tousy  gave  him  her  sympathy,  as  only  a  woman  can  give. 
It  was  not  spoken  freely  in  words,  merely  in  gestures  and 
little  ejaculatory  "ah's,"  "  oh's,"  and  "too  bad's";  but  it 
was  soothing  to  Die,  and  sweet  Miss  Tousy  gained  a  life 
long  friend. 

"  You  see,"  said  Die,  after  he  had  finished  his  story,  "  I 
cannot  communicate  with  Rita.  She  is  ill,  and  I  shall  be 
unable  to  hear  from  her." 


286  A    FOREST   HEARTH 

"  I'll  keep  you  informed ;  indeed  I  will,  gladly.  Oh, 
that  hard  old  woman  !  There  is  no  hallucination  so  dan 
gerous  to  surrounding  happiness  as  that  of  the  Pharisee. 
Mrs.  Bays  has  in  some  manner  convinced  herself  that  her 
hardness  is  goodness,  and  she  actually  imposes  the  convic 
tion  upon  others.  Her  wishes  have  come  to  bear  the  ap 
proval  of  her  conscience.  Every  day  of  my  life  I  grow 
more  thankful  that  I  have  a  sweet,  gentle  mother.  But 
Mrs.  Bays  intends  right,  and  that,  perhaps,  is  a  saving 
grace." 

"  I  prefer  a  person  who  intends  wrong  and  does  right 
to  one  who  intends  right  and  does  wrong,"  replied  Die. 
"  I  know  nothing  so  worthless  and  contemptible  as  mis 
taken  good  intentions.  But  we  should  not  criticise  Rita's 
mother." 

"  No,"  returned  Miss  Tousy ;  "  and  I'll  go  to  see  Rita 
every  day  —  twice  a  day  —  and  will  write  to  you  fully  by 
every  mail." 

"  I  intend  to  remain  at  the  inn  till  she  recovers.  I 
couldn't  wait  for  the  mail." 

"  Very  well,  that  is  much  better.  I'll  send  you  word  to 
the  inn  after  each  visit,  or,  if  you  wish,  you  may  come  to 
me  evenings,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  her.  Shall  I  see 
you  to-night,  and  shall  I  carry  any  message  ? " 

"Tell  her  I  will  remain  till  she  is  better,  and  —  and  then 
I  —  I  will  —  that  will  be  all  for  the  present." 


Billy  Little  was  for  going  home  at  noon,  but  Die  begged 
him  to  remain.  The  day  was  very  long  for  Die,  notwith 
standing  Billy's  companionship,  and  twice  during  the  after 
noon  he  induced  his  friend  to  exhibit  the  Brummel  coat 
at  the  street-crossing  a  short  distance  south  of  the  house 
wherein  the  girl  of  girls  lay  ill  and  grieving.  After  much 
persuasion,  Billy  consented  to  accompany  Die  on  his  visit 


THE    DIMPLER  287 

that  evening  to  Miss  Tousy.  The  Schwitzer  coat  was 
carefully  brushed,  the  pale  face  was  closely  shaved  and 
delicately  powdered,  and  the  few  remaining  hairs  were 
made  to  do  the  duty  of  many  in  covering  Billy's  blushing 
baldness. 

"  I  wish  I  had  one  of  my  waistcoats  here,"  said  our 
little  coxcomb.  "  I  would  button  it  if  I  had  to  go  into 
stays  —  egad  !  I  would.  I  will  show  you  those  waistcoats 
some  day,  —  India  silk  —  corn  color,  with  a  touch  of  gold 
braid  at  the  pockets,  ivory  buttons  the  size  of  a  sovereign, 
with  gold  centres,  made  by  the  artist  who  made  the  coat. 
The  coat  is  all  right.  Wouldn't  be  ashamed  to  wear  it  to 
a  presentation.  I  will  button  it  over  this  waistcoat  and  it 
will  not  be  noticed.  How  do  you  like  this  stock  —  all 
right  ? " 

"I  think  it  is." 

"  I  have  a  better  one  at  home.  Got  it  down  by  the  bank. 
Smith,  Dye  and  Company,  Limited,  Haberdashers.  I  can 
recommend  the  place  if  —  if  you  ever  go  to  London. 
Brummel's  haberdasher  —  Brummel  knew  the  best  places. 
Depend  upon  him  for  that.  Where  he  dealt,  there  you 
would  hear  the  tramp  of  many  feet.  He  made  Schwitzer's 
fortune.  Wonderful  man,  Brummel.  Wonderful  man,  and 
I  like  him  if  he  does  owe  me  a  thousand  pounds  thirty 
years  past  due.  Egad  !  it  has  been  so  long  since  I  carried 
a  stick  I  have  almost  lost  the  knack  of  the  thing.  A  stick 
is  a  useful  thing  to  a  gentleman.  Gives  him  grace,  fur 
nishes  occupation  for  his  hands.  Gloves  in  one  hand,  stick 
in  the  other —  no  man  need  get  his  hands  mixed.  Got  this 
stick  down  on  Washington  Street  an  hour  ago.  How  do  I 
seem  to  handle  it  ?  "  He  walked  across  the  room,  holding 
the  stick  in  the  most  approved  fashion  —  of  thirty  years 
before. 

"  It's  fine,  Billy  Little,  it's  fine,"  answered  Die,  sorry  to 
see  an  apparent  weakness  in  his  little  friend,  though  loving 


288  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

him  better  for  the  sake  of  it.  The  past  had  doubled  back 
on  Billy  for  a  day,  and  he  felt  a  touch  of  his  youth  —  of 
that  olden  time  when  the  first  dandy  of  England  was  heir- 
apparent  to  the  crown  and  blubbered  over  an  ill-fitting 
coat.  If  you  will  look  at  the  people  of  those  times  through 
the  lens  of  that  fact,  you  will  see  something  interesting  and 
amusing. 

After  many  glances  toward  the  mirror,  Billy  announced 
that  he  was  ready,  and  marched  upon  Miss  Tousy,  exulting 
in  the  fact  that  there  was  not  in  all  the  state  another  coat 
like  the  one  he  wore.  Billy's  vanity,  to  do  him  justice, 
was  not  at  all  upon  his  own  account.  He  wished  to  appear 
well  for  Die's  sake,  and  ransacked  his  past  life  for  points 
in  etiquette  and  manner  once  familiar,  but  now  almost  for 
gotten  by  him  and  by  the  world.  His  quaint  old  resurrec 
tions  were  comical  and  apt  to  create  mirth,  but  beneath 
their  oddities  I  believe  a  discerning  person  would  easily 
have  recognized  the  gentleman. 

I  shall  not  describe  to  you  Billy's  Regency  bow  when 
Die  presented  him  to  Miss  Tousy ;  nor  shall  I  bring  into 
his  conversation  all  the  "  My  dear  madams,"  "  Dear 
ladys,"  and  "  Beg  pardons,"  scattered  broadcast  in  his 
effort  to  do  credit  to  his  protege".  But  Miss  Tousy  liked 
Billy,  while  she  enjoyed  his  old-fashioned  affectations  ;  and 
in  truth  the  man  was  in  all  respects  worthy  of  the  coat. 

"  Rita  is  very  ill,"  Miss  Tousy  said.  "  Mrs.  Bays  says 
your  conduct  almost  killed  her  daughter.  Two  doctors  are 
with  her  now." 

"  Terrible,  my  dear  madam,  terrible,"  interrupted  Billy, 
and  Miss  Tousy  continued  :  — 

"  I  whispered  to  Rita  that  you  would  remain,  and  she 
murmured,  '  I'm  so  glad.  Tell  him  mother  forced  me  to 
promise  that  I  would  never  see  him  again,  and  that  promise 
is  killing  me.  I  can't  forget  it  even  for  a  moment.  Ask 
him  to  forgive  me,  and  ask  him  if  it  will  be  wrong  for  me 


THE    DIMPLER  289 

to  break  the  promise  when  I  get  well.  I  cannot  decide 
whether  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  keep  it  or  to  break  it. 
Both  ways  seem  wicked  to  me ! '  " 

"  Wicked  ! "  cried  Billy  springing  from  his  chair  excitedly, 
and  walking  across  the  room,  gloves  in  one  hand,  stick  in 
the  other,  and  Brummel  coat  buttoned  tightly  across  the 
questionable  waistcoat,  "  my  dear  lady,  tell  her  it  will  be 
wicked  —  damnable  —  beg  pardon,  beg  pardon  ;  but  I 
must  repeat,  dear  lady,  it  will  be  wicked  and  wrong  —  a 
damning  wrong,  if  she  keeps  the  promise  obtained  by  force 
—  by  force,  lady,  by  duress.  Tell  her  I  absolve  her  from 
the  promise.  I  will  go  to  Rome  and  get  the  Pope's  absolu 
tion.  No  !  that  will  be  worse  than  none  for  Rita ;  she  is  a 
Baptist.  Well,  well,  I'll  hunt  out  the  head  Baptist,  —  the 
high  chief  of  all  Baptists,  if  there  is  one,  —  and  will  get  his 
absolution.  But,  my  dear  Miss  Tousy,  she  has  faith  in  me. 
I  have  never  led  her  wrong  in  my  life,  and  she  knows  it. 
Tell  her  I  say  the  promise  is  not  binding,  before  either 
God  or  man,  and  you  will  help  her." 

"  And  tell  her  she  will  not  be  able  to  keep  the  promise," 
interrupted  Die.  "  I'll  make  it  impossible.  When  she 
recovers,  I'll  kidnap  her,  if  need  be." 

"  I'll  go  at  once  and  tell  her,"  returned  Miss  Tousy. 
"  She  is  in  need  of  those  messages." 

Die  and  Billy  walked  down  to  Bays's  with  Miss  Tousy, 
and  waited  on  the  corner  till  she  emerged  from  the  house, 
when  they  immediately  joined  her. 

"  I  gave  her  the  messages,"  said  Miss  Tousy,  "  and  she 
became  quieter  at  once.  'Tell  him  I'll  get  well  now,'  she 
whispered.  Then  she  smiled  faintly,  and  said,  '  Wouldn't 
it  be  romantic  to  be  kidnapped  ? '  After  that  she  was 
silent ;  and  within  five  minutes  she  slept,  for  the  first  time 
since  yesterday." 

Rita's  illness  proved  to  be  typhoid  fever,  a  frightful 
disease  in  those  days  of  bleeding  and  calomel. 


290  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Billy  returned  home  after  a  few  days,  but  Die  remained 
to  receive  his  diurnal  report  from  Miss  Tousy. 

One  evening  during  the  fourth  week  of  Rita's  illness 
Die  received  the  joyful  tidings  that  the  fever  had  sub 
sided,  and  that  she  would  recover.  He  spent  a  great  part 
of  the  night  watching  her  windows  from  across  the  street, 
as  he  had  spent  many  a  night  before. 

On  returning  to  the  inn  he  found  a  letter  from  Sukey 
Yates.  He  had  been  thinking  that  the  fates  had  put 
aside  their  grudge  against  him,  and  that  his  luck  had 
turned.  When  he  read  the  letter  announcing  that  the  poor 
little  dimpler  was  in  dire  tribulation,  and  asking  him  to 
return  to  her  at  once  and  save  her  from  disgrace,  he  still 
felt  that  the  fates  had  changed  —  but  for  the  worse.  He 
was  sure  Sukey  might,  with  equal  propriety,  make  her 
appeal  to  several  other  young  men  —  especially  to  Tom 
Bays ;  but  he  was  not  strong  enough  in  his  conviction  to 
relieve  himself  of  blame,  or  entirely  to  throw  off  a  sense 
of  responsibility.  In  truth,  he  had  suffered  for  weeks  with 
an  excruciating  remorse;  and  the  sin  into  which  he  had 
been  tempted  had  been  resting  like  lead  upon  his  con 
science.  He  remembered  Billy's  warning  against  Sukey's 
too  seductive  charms ;  and  although  he  had  honestly  tried 
to  follow  the  advice,  and  had  clearly  seen  the  danger,  he 
had  permitted  himself  to  be  lured  into  a  trap  by  a  full  set 
of  dimples  and  a  pair  of  moist,  red  lips.  He  was  not  so 
craven  as  to  say,  even  to  himself,  that  Sukey  was  to  blame ; 
but  deep  in  his  consciousness  he  knew  that  he  had  tried 
not  to  sin;  and  that  Sukey,  with  her  allurements,  half 
childish,  half-womanly,  and  all-enticing,  had  tempted  him, 
and  he  had  eaten.  The  news  in  her  letter  entirely  upset 
him.  For  a  time  he  could  not  think  coherently.  He  had 
never  loved  Sukey,  even  for  a  moment.  He  could  not 
help  admiring  her  physical  beauty.  She  was  a  perfect 
specimen  of  her  type,  and  her  too  affectionate  heart  and 


THE    DIMPLER  291 

joyous,  never-to-be-ruffled  good  humor  made  her  a  delight 
ful  companion,  well  fitted  to  arouse  tenderness.  Add 
virtue  and  sound  principle  to  Sukey's  other  attractions, 
and  she  would  have  made  a  wife  good  enough  for  a  king 
—  too  good,  far  too  good.  For  the  lack  of  those  qualities 
she  was  not  to  blame,  since  they  spring  from  heredity  or 
environment.  Sukey's  parents  were  good,  honest  folk,  but 
wholly  unfitted  to  bring  up  a  daughter.  Sukey  at  fourteen 
was  quite  mature,  and  gave  evidence  of  beauty  so  marked 
as  to  attract  men  twice  her  age,  who  "  kept  company " 
with  her,  as  the  phrase  went,  sat  with  her  till  late  in  the 
night,  took  her  out  to  social  gatherings,  and  —  God  help 
the  girl,  she  was  not  to  blame.  She  did  only  as  others  did, 
as  her  parents  permitted ;  and  her  tender  little  heart,  so 
prone  to  fondness,  proved  to  be  a  curse  rather  than  the 
blessing  it  would  have  been  if  properly  directed  and  pro 
tected.  Mentally,  physically,  and  temperamentally  she 
was  very  close  to  nature,  and  nature,  in  the  human  species, 
needs  curbing. 

The  question  of  who  should  bear  the  blame  did  not  enter 
into  Die's  perturbed  cogitations.  He  took  it  all  upon  his 
own  broad  shoulders,  and  did  not  seek  to  hide  his  sin  under 
the  cloak  of  that  poor  extenuation,  "she  did  tempt  me." 
If  Rita's  love  should  turn  to  hatred  (he  thought  it  would), 
he  would  marry  Sukey  and  bear  his  burden  through  life ; 
but  if  Rita's  love  could  withstand  this  shock,  Sukey's 
troubles  would  go  unrighted  by  him.  Those  were  the  only 
conclusions  he  could  reach.  His  keen  remorse  was  the 
result  of  his  sin  ;  and  while  he  pitied  Sukey,  he  did  not  trust 
her. 

Next  morning  Die  saw  Miss  Tousy  and  took  the  stage 
for  home.  His  first  visit  was  to  Billy  Little,  whom  he 
found  distributing  letters  back  of  the  post-office  boxes. 

"  How  is  Rita  ?  "  asked  Billy. 

"  She's  much  better,"  returned  Die.     "  Miss  Tousy  tells 


292  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

me  the  fever  has  left  her,  and  the  doctors  say  she  will  soon 
recover.  I  wanted  to  see  her  before  I  left,  but  of  course 
that  could  not  be ;  and  —  and  the  truth  is  I  could  not  have 
looked  her  in  the  face." 

"  Why  ? "  Billy  was  busy  throwing  letters. 

"  Because  —  because,  Billy  Little,  I  am  at  last  convinced 
that  I  represent  the  most  perfect  combination  of  knave 
and  fool  that  ever  threw  heaven  away  and  walked  open- 
eyed  into  hell." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  "  replied  the  postmaster,  continuing 
to  toss  letters  into  their  respective  boxes.  "I  ...  don't 
know.  The  world  has  seen  some  rare  (Mrs.  Sarah  Cum 
mins)  combinations  of  that  sort."  After  a  long  pause  he 
continued  :"!...!  don't  believe  (Peter  Davidson)  I  don't 
believe  .  .  .  there  is  much  knave  in  you.  Fool,  perhaps 
(Atkinson,  David.  He  doesn't  live  here),  in  plenty  — ." 
Another  pause,  while  three  or  four  letters  were  distributed. 
"  Suppose  you  say  that  the  formula  —  the  chemical  for 
mula —  of  your  composition  would  stand  (Peter  Smith) 
F9  K2.  Of  course,  at  times,  you  are  all  M,  which  stands 
for  man,  but  (Jane  Anderson,  Jane  Anderson.  Jo  John's 
wife,  I  suppose)  —  " 

"  You  will  not  jest,  Billy  Little,  when  you  have  heard 
all." 

"  I  am  not  .  .  .  jesting  now.  Go  back  .  .  .  into  my  apart 
ments.  I'll  lock  the  door  (Samuel  Richardson.  Great 
writer)  and  come  back  to  you  (Leander  Cross.  Couldn't 
read  a  signboard.  What  use  writing  letters  to  him  ?)  when 
I  have  handed  (Mrs.  Margarita  Bays.  They  don't  know 
she  has  moved  to  Indianapolis,  damn  her)  —  when  I  have 
handed  out  the  mail." 

Die  went  back  to  the  bedroom,  and  Billy  opened  the 
delivery  window.  The  little  crowd  scrambled  for  their 
letters  as  if  they  feared  a  delay  of  a  moment  or  two  would 
fade  the  ink,  and  when  the  mail  had  been  distributed  the 


THE   DIMPLER  293 

calm  postmaster  went  back  to  hear  Die's  troubles.  At  no 
time  in  that  young  man's  life  had  his  troubles  been  so 
heavy.  He  feared  Billy  Little's  scorn  and  biting  sarcasm, 
though  he  well  knew  that  in  the  end  he  would  receive 
sympathy  and  good  advice.  The  relation  between  Die 
and  Billy  was  not  only  that  of  intimate  friendship ;  it  was 
almost  like  that  between  father  and  son.  Billy  felt  that  it 
was  not  only  his  privilege,  but  his  duty,  to  be  severe  with 
the  young  man  when  necessity  demanded.  When  Die 
was  a  boy  he  lost  his  father,  and  Billy  Little  had  stood  as 
substitute  for,  lo,  these  many  years. 

When  Billy  entered  the  room,  Die  was  lost  amid  the 
flood  of  innumerable  emotions,  chief  among  which  were 
the  fear  that  he  had  lost  Rita  and  the  dread  of  her  con 
tempt. 

Billy  went  to  the  fireplace,  poked  the  fire,  lighted  his 
pipe,  and  leaned  against  the  mantel-shelf. 

"  Well,  what's  the  trouble  now  ? "  asked  Brummel's 
friend. 

"  Read  this,"  answered  Die,  handing  him  Sukey's  letter. 

Billy  went  to  the  window,  rested  his  elbows  upon  the 
piano,  put  on  his  "other  glasses,"  and  read  aloud:  — 

"'DEAR  Die:  I'm  in  so  much  trouble.'"  (" Maxwelton's 
braes,"  exclaimed  Billy.  The  -phrase  at  such  a  time  was 
almost  an  oath.)  "  '  Please  come  to  me  at  once.'  '  (Billy 
turned  his  face  toward  Die  and  gazed  at  him  for  thirty 
long  seconds.)  "'Come  at  once.  Oh,  please  come  to  me, 
Die.  I  will  kill  myself  if  you  don't.  I  cannot  sleep  nor 
eat.  I  am  in  such  agony  I  wish  I  were  dead ;  but  I  trust 
you,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  save  me.  I  know  you  will. 
If  you  could  know  how  wretched  and  unhappy  I  am,  if 
you  could  see  me  tossing  all  night  in  bed,  and  crying  and 
praying,  you  certainly  would  pity  me.  Oh,  God,  I  will  go 
crazy.  I  know  I  will.  Come  to  me,  Die,  and  save  me.  I 


294  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

have  never  said  that  I  loved  you  —  you  have  never  asked 
me  —  but  you  know  it  more  surely  than  words  can  tell. 

"  '  SUKEY.'  " 

When  Billy  had  finished  reading  the  letter  he  spoke  two 
words,  as  if  to  himself,  —  "Poor  Rita."  His  first  thought 
was  of  her.  Her  pain  was  his  pain  ;  her  joy  was  his  joy  ; 
her  agony  was  his  torture.  Then  he  seated  himself  on  the 
stool  and  gazed  across  the  piano  out  the  window.  After 
a  little  time  his  fingers  began  to  wander  over  the  keys. 
Soon  the  wandering  fingers  began  to  strike  chords,  and 
the  random  chords  grew  into  soft,  weird  improvisations; 
then  came  a  few  chords  from  the  beloved,  melodious 
"  Messiah  "  ;  but  as  usual  "  Annie  Laurie  "  soon  claimed 
her  own,  and  Billy  was  lost,  for  the  time,  to  Die  and  to  the 
world.  Meanwhile  Die  sat  by  the  fireplace  awaiting  his 
friend's  pleasure,  and  to  say  that  he  suffered,  but  poorly 
tells  his  condition. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?"  asked  Billy, 
suddenly  turning  on  the  stool.  Die  did  not  answer,  and 
Billy  continued :  "  Damned  pretty  mess  you've  made. 
Proud  of  yourself,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Lady-killer,  eh  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Oh,  perhaps  it  wasn't  your  fault,  Adam  ?  You  are 
not  to  blame  ?  She  tempted  you  ?  " 

"  I  only  am  to  blame." 

"'Deed  if  I  believe  you  have  brains  enough  to  know 
who  is  to  blame." 

"  Yes,  I  have  that  much,  but  no  more.  Oh,  Billy  Little, 
don't — don't."  Billy  turned  upon  the  piano-stool,  and 
again  began  to  play. 

Die  had  known  that  Billy  would  be  angry,  but  he  was 
not  prepared  for  this  avalanche  of  wrath.  Billy  had  grown 


THE   DIMPLER  295 

desperately  fond  of  Rita.  No  one  could  know  better  than 
he  the  utter  folly  and  hopelessness  of  his  passion ;  but  the 
realization  of  folly  and  a  sense  of  hopelessness  do  not  shut 
folly  out  of  the  heart.  If  they  did,  there  would  be  less 
suffering  in  the  world.  Billy's  love  was  a  strange  combina 
tion  of  that  which  might  be  felt  by  a  lover  and  a  father. 
He  had  not  hoped  or  desired  ever  to  possess  the  girl,  and 
his  love  for  Die  had  made  it  not  only  easy,  but  joyous  to 
surrender  her  to  him.  Especially  was  he  happy  over  the 
union  because  it  would  insure  her  happiness.  His  love 
was  so  unselfish  that  he  was  willing  to  give  up  not  only 
the  girl,  but  himself,  his  blood,  his  life,  for  her  sweet  sake. 
With  all  his  love  for  Die,  that  young  man  was  chiefly 
important  as  a  means  to  Rita's  happiness,  and  now  he  had 
become  worse  than  useless  because  he  was  a  source  of 
wretchedness  to  her.  You  may  understand,  then,  the 
reason  for  Billy's  extreme  anger  against  this  young  man, 
who  since  childhood  had  been  his  friend,  almost  as  dear  as 
if  he  were  his  son. 

After  rambling  over  the  keys  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
he  turned  savagely  upon  Die,  saying: — 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  why  you  come  to  me  for 
advice.  You  don't  take  it." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  Billy  Little.  I  value  your  advice  above 
every  one  else's." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense.  I  warned  you  against  that  girl  — 
the  dimpler  :  much  you  heeded  me.  Do  you  think  I'm 
a  free  advice  factory  ?  Get  out  of  here,  get  out  of  here,  I 
say,  and  let  me  never  see  your  face  —  " 

"Oh,  Billy  Little,  don't,  don't,"  cried  Die.  "You  can't 
forsake  me  after  all  these  years  you  have  helped  me.  You 
can't  do  it,  Billy  Little !  " 

"  Get  out  of  here,  I  say,  and  don't  come  back—  "  ("  Ah, 
Billy  Little,  I  beg — ")  "  till  to-morrow  morning.  Come  to 
morrow,  and  I  will  try  to  tell  you  what  to  do."  Die  rushed 


296  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

upon  the  terrible  little  fellow,  clasped  his  small  form  with  a 
pair  of  great  strong  arms,  and  ran  from  the  room.  Billy 
sat  for  a  moment  gazing  at  the  door  through  which  Die 
had  passed ;  then  he  arranged  his  stock,  and  turned  to  his 
piano  for  consolation  and  inspiration. 

Billy  knew  that  he  knew  Die,  and  believed  he  knew 
Sukey.  He  knew,  among  other  facts  concerning  Die,  that 
he  was  not  a  libertine ;  that  he  was  pure  in  mind  and 
purpose ;  that  he  loved  and  revered  Rita  Bays ;  and  that 
he  did  not  care  a  pin  for  Sukey's  manifold  charms  of  flesh 
and  blood.  He  believed  that  Sukey  was  infatuated  with 
Die,  and  that  her  fondness  grew  partly  out  of  the  fact  that 
he  did  not  fall  before  her  smiles.  He  also  believed  that 
her  regard  for  Die  did  not  preclude,  in  her  comprehensive 
little  heart,  great  tenderness  for  other  men.  Sukey  had, 
upon  one  occasion,  been  engaged  to  marry  three  separate 
and  distinct  swains  of  the  neighborhood,  and  a  triangular 
fight  among  the  three  suitors  had  aroused  in  the  breast  of 
her  girl  friends  a  feeling  of  envy  that  was  delicious  to  the 
dimpling  little  casus  belli.  After  Die's  departure,  Billy 
sat  throughout  most  of  the  night  gazing  into  the  fire, 
smoking  his  pipe,  and  turning  the  situation  over  in  his 
mind.  When  Die  arrived  next  morning  he  was  seated  on 
the  counter  ready  with  his  advice.  The  young  man  took 
a  seat  beside  him. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Billy.  "  I  think  I 
know,  but  tell  me  the  exact  truth.  Don't  spare  the  dim- 
pier,  and  don't  spare  yourself." 

Thereupon  Die  unfolded  his  story  with  a  naked  truth 
fulness  that  made  him  blush. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  remarked  Billy,  when  the  story 
was  finished.  "  Miss  Potiphar  from  Egypt  has  brought 
you  and  herself  into  trouble." 

"  No,  no,  Billy  Little,  you  are  wrong.  I  cannot  escape 
blame  by  placing  the  fault  upon  her.  I  should  despise 


THE   DIMPLER  297 

myself  if  I  did  ;  but  I  would  be  a  blind  fool  not  to  see 
that  —  that  —  oh,  I  cannot  explain.  You  know  there  are 
Jap  Bertram,  Dick  Olders,  Tom  Printz,  and,  above  all, 
Tom  Bays,  who  are  her  close  friends  and  constant  visitors 
and  —  and,  you  know  —  you  understand  my  doubts.  I  do 
not  trust  her.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  suppose  I  should 
wish  to  err  on  the  right  side.  It  is  better  that  I  should 
err  in  trusting  her  than  to  be  unjust  in  doubting  her.  The 
first  question  is :  Shall  I  marry  Sukey  if  Rita  will  forgive 
me?  The  second,  Shall  I  marry  her  if  Rita  refuses  to 
forgive  me  ?  Am  I  bound  by  honor  and  duty  to  sacrifice 
my  happiness  for  the  sake  of  the  girl  whom  I  do  not,  but 
perhaps  should,  trust  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  your  happiness  has  anything  to  do 
with  the  case,"  returned  Billy.  "  If  that  alone  were  to  be 
considered,  I  should  say  marry  Sukey  regardless  of  your 
doubts.  You  deserve  the  penalty  ;  but  Rita  has  done  no 
sin,  and  you  have  no  right  to  punish  her  to  pay  your  debts. 
You  are  bound  by  every  tie  of  honor  to  marry  her,  and 
you  shall  do  so.  The  dimpler  is  trying  to  take  you  from 
Rita,  and  if  you  are  not  careful  your  fool  conscience  will 
help  her  to  do  it." 

"  If  Rita  will  forgive  me,"  said  Die. 

"  She'll  forgive  you  sooner  or  later,"  answered  Billy. 
"  Her  love  and  forgiveness  are  benedictions  she  cannot 
withhold  nor  you  escape." 

I  doubt  if  Billy  Little  would  have  been  so  eager  in  for 
warding  this  marriage  had  not  Williams  been  frowning  in 
the  background.  Billy,  as  you  know,  had  a  heart  of  his 
own  —  a  bachelor  heart;  but  he  hated  Williams,  and  was 
intensely  jealous  of  him.  So,  taking  the  situation  at  its 
worst,  Die  was  the  lesser  of  two  evils.  But,  as  I  have 
already  told  you  many  times,  he  passionately  loved  Die 
for  his  own  sake,  and  his  unselfish  regard  for  the  price 
less  girl  made  the  young  man  doubly  valuable  as  a  means 


298  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

to  her  happiness.  If  Rita  wanted  a  lover,  she  must  have 
him.  If  she  wanted  the  moon,  she  ought  to  have  it  — 
should  have  it,  if  Billy  Little  could  get  it  for  her.  So  felt 
Billy,  whose  advice  brought  joy  to  Die.  It  also  brought  to 
him  the  necessity  of  a  painful  interview  with  Sukey.  He 
dreaded  the  interview,  and  told'  Billy  he  thought  he  would 
write  to  Sukey  instead. 

"  You  can  pay  at  least  a  small  part  of  the  penalty  you 
owe  by  seeing  the  girl  and  bearing  the  pain  of  an  inter 
view,"  replied  Billy.  "  But  if  you  are  too  cowardly  to  visit 
her,  write.  I  suppose  that's  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  in 
your  place.  But  I'd  be  a  poor  example  for  a  manly  man  to 
follow." 

"  I'll  see  her,"  replied  Die.     "  Poor  Sukey  !     I  pity  her." 
"  It  isn't  safe  to  pity  a  girl  like  Sukey.      Pity  has  a 
dangerous  kinsman,"  observed  Billy. 

On  his  way  home,  Die  called  upon  Sukey,  and,  finding 
her  out,  left  word  he  would  return  that  evening.  When 
she  received  the  message  her  heart  throbbed  with  hope, 
and  the  dimples  twinkled  joyously  for  the  first  time  in 
many  days.  She  used  all  the  simple  arts  at  her  com 
mand  to  adorn  herself  for  his  reception,  and  toiled  to  assist 
the  dimples  in  the  great  part  they  would  soon  be  called 
upon  to  play  in  the  drama  of  her  life.  She  knew  that  Die 
did  not  trust  her,  and  from  that  knowledge  grew  her  own 
doubts  as  to  the  course  he  would  take.  Hope  and  fear 
warmed  and  chilled  her  heart  by  turns ;  but  her  efforts  to 
display  her  charms  were  truly  successful ;  and  faith,  born 
of  man's  admiration,  led  her  to  believe  she  would  that 
night  win  the  greatest  prize  the  world  had  to  offer,  and 
would  save  herself  from  ruin  and  disgrace. 

Soon  after  supper  the  family  were  relegated  to  the 
kitchen,  and  Sukey,  with  palpitating  heart,  waited  in  the 
front  room  for  Die. 


THE    DIMPLER  299 

Among  our  simple  rural  folk  a  decollete  gown  was  con 
sidered  immodest.  In  order  to  be  correct  the  collar  must 
cover  the  throat,  as  nearly  to  the  chin  and  ears  as  possible. 
Sukey's  dresses  were  built  upon  this  plan,  much  to  her 
regret ;  for  her  throat  and  bosom  were  as  white  and  plump 
—but  never  mind  the  description.  They  suited  Sukey,  and 
so  far  as  I  have  ever  heard  they  were  entirely  satisfactory  to 
those  so  fortunate  as  to  behold  them.  Therefore,  when  she 
was  alone,  knowing  well  the  inutility  of  the  blushing  rose 
unseen,  she  opened  the  dress  collar  and  tucked  it  under  at 
each  side,  displaying  her  rounded  white  throat,  with  its 
palpitating  little  spot — almost  another  dimple  —  where  it 
merged  into  the  bosom.  There  was  no  immodest  exposure, 
but  when  Mrs.  Yates  returned  to  the  room  for  her  glasses, 
the  collar  was  quickly  readjusted  and  remained  in  place 
till  Die's  step  was  heard.  Now,  ready,  and  all  together  : 
dimples,  lips,  teeth,  eyes,  and  throat,  do  your  duty!  So 
much  depended  upon  Die  that  she  wanted  to  fall  upon  her 
knees  when  he  entered.  It  grieves  me  to  write  thus  of  our 
poor,  simple  little  girl,  whose  faults  were  thrust  upon  her, 
and  I  wish  I  might  have  told  this  story  with  reference  only 
to  her  dimples  and  her  sweetness  ;  but  Die  shall  not  be  hope 
lessly  condemned  for  his  sin,  if  I  can  prevent  it,  save  by 
those  who  are  entitled  to  cast  stones,  and  to  prevent  such 
condemnation  I  must  tell  you  the  truth  about  Sukey.  The 
fact  that  he  would  not  claim  the  extenuation  of  temptation 
is  at  least  some  reason  why  he  should  have  it. 

I  shall  not  tell  you  the  details  of  this  interview.  Soon 
after  Die's  arrival  our  little  Hebe  was  in  tears,  and  he,  moved 
by  her  suffering,  could  not  bring  himself  to  tell  her  his 
determination.  Truly,  Billy  was  right.  It  was  dangerous 
to  pity  such  a  girl.  Die  neither  consented  nor  refused  to 
marry  her,  but  weakly  evaded  the  subject,  and  gave  her 
the  impression  that  he  would  comply  with  her  wishes.  He 
did  not  intend  to  create  that  impression ;  but  in  her  ardent 


300  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

desire  she  construed  his  silence  to  suit  herself,  and,  be 
coming  radiant  with  joy,  was  prettier  and  more  enticing 
than  she  had  ever  before  appeared.  Therefore,  as  every 
man  will  agree,  Die's  task  became  difficult  in  proportion, 
and  painful  beyond  his  most  gloomy  anticipations.  His 
weakness  grew  out  of  a  great  virtue  —  the  wholesome 
dread  of  inflicting  pain. 

During  the  evening  Sukey  offered  Die  a  cup  of  cider, 
and  her  heart  beat  violently  while  he  drank. 

"  It  has  a  peculiar  taste,"  he  remarked. 

"There  are  crab  apples  in  it,"  the  girl  answered. 

There  was  something  more  than  crab  apples  in  the  cider ; 
there  was  a  love  powder,  and  two  hours  after  Die's  arrival 
at  home  he  became  ill.  Dr.  Kennedy  ascribed  the  illness 
to  poisoning,  and  for  a  time  it  looked  as  if  Sukey's  love 
powder  would  solve  several  problems ;  but  Die  recovered, 
and  the  problems  were  still  unsolved. 

From  the  day  Die  received  Sukey's  unwelcome  letter,  he 
knew  it  was  his  duty  to  inform  Rita  of  his  trouble.  He 
was  sure  she  would  soon  learn  the  interesting  truth  from 
disinterested  friends,  should  the  secret  become  public  prop 
erty  on  Blue,  and  he  wanted  at  least  the  benefit  of  an  hon 
est  confession.  That  selfishness,  however,  was  but  a  small 
part  of  his  motive.  He  sincerely  felt  that  it  was  Rita's 
privilege  to  know  all  about  the  affair,  and  his  duty  to  tell 
her.  He  had  no  desire  to  conceal  his  sin  ;  he  would  not 
take  her  love  under  a  false  pretence.  He  almost  felt  that 
confession  would  purge  him  of  his  sin,  and  looked  forward 
with  a  certain  pleasure  to  the  pain  he  would  inflict  upon 
himself  in  telling  her.  In  his  desire  for  self-castigation  he 
lost  sight  of  the  pain  he  would  inflict  upon  her.  He  knew 
she  would  be  pained  by  the  disclosure,  but  he  feared  more 
its  probable  effect  upon  her  love  for  him,  and  looked  for 
indignant  contempt  and  scorn  from  her,  rather  than  for  the 
manifestation  of  great  pain.  He  resolved  to  write  to  Rita 


THE   DIMPLER  301 

at  once  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it;  but  Billy  advised 
him  to  wait  till  she  was  entirely  well. 

Die,  quite  willing  to  postpone  his  confession,  wrote  sev 
eral  letters,  which  kind  Miss  Tousy  delivered;  but  he  did 
not  speak  of  Sukey  Yates  until  Rita's  letters  informed  him 
that  she  was  growing  strong.  Then  he  wrote  to  her  and 
told  her  in  as  few  words  as  possible  the  miserable  story  of 
his  infidelity.  He  did  not  blame  Sukey,  nor  excuse  himself. 
He  simply  stated  the  fact  and  said:  "I  hardly  dare  hope 
for  your  forgiveness.  It  seems  that  you  must  despise  me  as 
I  despise  myself.  It  is  needless  for  me  to  tell  you  of  my 
love  for  you,  which  has  not  wavered  during  so  many  years 
that  I  have  lost  their  count.  But  now  that  I  deserve  your 
scorn ;  now  that  I  am  in  dread  of  losing  you  who  have  so 
long  been  more  than  all  else  to  me,  you  are  dearer  than 
ever  before.  Write  to  me,  I  beg,  and  tell  me  that  you  do 
not  despise  me.  Ah,  Rita,  compared  to  you,  there  is  no 
beauty,  no  purity,  no  tenderness  in  the  world.  There 
seems  to  be  but  one  woman  —  you,  and  I  have  thrown 
away  your  love  as  if  I  were  a  blind  fool  who  did  not  know 
its  value.  Write  to  me,  I  beg,  and  tell  me  that  I  am  for 
given." 

But  she  did  not  write  to  him.  In  place  of  a  letter  he 
received  a  small  package  containing  the  ivory  box  and  the 
unfortunate  band  of  gold  that  had  brought  trouble  to  Billy 
Little  long  years  before. 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WISE  Miss  TOUSY 

UPON  first  reading  Die's  letter,  Rita  was  stunned  by 
its  contents ;  but  within  a  day  or  two  her  thoughts 
and  emotions  began  to  arrange  themselves,  and  out 
of  order  came  conclusion.  The  first  conclusion  was  a  sur 
prise  to  her :  she  did  not  love  Die  as  she  had  supposed. 
A  scornful  indifference  seemed  to  occupy  the  place  in  her 
heart  that  for  years  had  been  Die's.  With  that  indiffer 
ence  came  a  sense  of  change.  Die  was  not  the  Die  she 
had  known  and  loved.  He  was  another  person ;  and  to 
this  feeling  of  strangeness  was  added  one  of  scorn.  This 
new  Die  was  a  man  unworthy  of  any  pure  girl's  love ;  and 
although  her  composite  emotion  was  streaked  with  excru 
ciating  pain,  as  a  whole  it  was  decidedly  against  him,  and 
she  felt  that  she  wished  never  to  see  him  again.  She 
began  a  letter  to  him,  but  did  not  care  to  finish  it,  and 
returned  the  ring  without  comment,  that  being  the  only  an 
swer  he  deserved.  Pages  of  scorn  could  not  have  brought 
to  Die  a  keener  realization  of  the  certainty  and  enormity 
of  his  loss.  He  returned  the  ring  to  Billy  Little. 

"  I  thank  you  for  it,  Billy,  though  it  has  brought  grief 
to  me  as  it  did  to  you.  I  do  not  blame  the  ring;  my 
loss  is  my  own  fault ;  but  it  is  strange  that  the  history  of 
the  ring  should  repeat  itself.  It  almost  makes  one  super 
stitious." 

"  Egad  !  no  one  else  shall  suffer  by  it,"  said  Billy,  open 
ing  the  huge  iron  stove  and  throwing  the  ring  into  the  fire, 
x  305 


306  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Die's  loss  was  so  heavy  that  it  mollified  Billy's  anger, 
which  for  several  days  had  been  keen  against  his  young 
friend.  Billy's  own  pain  and  grief  also  had  a  softening 
effect  upon  his  anger;  for  with  Die  out  of  the  way, 
Rita  Bays,  he  thought,  would  soon  become  Mrs.  Roger 
Williams,  and  that  thought  was  torture  to  the  bachelor 
heart. 

Rita,  bearing  the  name  of  his  first  and  only  sweetheart, 
had  entered  the  heart  of  this  man's  second  youth  ;  and  in 
the  person  of  Die  he  was  wooing  her  and  fighting  the 
good  fight  of  love  against  heavy  odds.  Die,  upon  receiv 
ing  the  ring,  was  ready  to  surrender ;  but  Billy  well  knew 
that  many  a  battle  had  been  won  after  defeat,  and  was 
determined  not  to  throw  down  his  arms. 

Thinking  over  his  situation,  Die  became  convinced  that 
since  Rita  was  lost  to  him,  he  was  in  honor  bound  to  marry 
Sukey  Yates.  Life  would  be  a  desert  waste,  but  there 
was  no  one  to  thank  for  the  future  Sahara  but  himself, 
and  the  self-inflicted  sand  and  thirst  must  be  endured. 
The  thought  of  marrying  Sukey  Yates  at  first  caused  him 
almost  to  hate  her  ;  but  after  he  had  pondered  the  subject 
three  or  four  days,  familiarity  bred  contempt  of  its  terrors. 
Once  having  accepted  the  unalterable,  he  was  at  least  rid 
of  the  pain  of  suspense.  He  tried  to  make  himself  believe 
that  his  pain  was  not  so  keen  as  he  had  expected  it  would 
be ;  and  by  shutting  out  of  his  mind  all  thoughts  of  Rita, 
he  partially  succeeded. 

Sunday  afternoon  Die  saw  Sukey  at  church  and  rode 
home  with  her,  resting  that  evening  upon  her  ciphering 
log.  He  had  determined  to  tell  her  that  he  would  marry 
her ;  but  despite  his  desire  to  end  the  suspense,  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  speak  the  words.  He  allowed  her  to 
believe,  by  inference,  what  she  chose,  and  she,  though  still 
in  great  doubt,  felt  that  the  important  question  was  almost 
settled  in  her  favor. 


WISE   MISS   TOUSY  307 

During  the  interim  of  four  or  five  days  Billy  Little  se 
cretly  called  upon  Miss  Tousy,  and  incidentally  dropped  in 
to  see  Rita. 

After  discussing  matters  of  health  and  weather,  Billy 
said  :  "  Rita,  you  must  not  be  too  hard  on  Die.  He  was 
not  to  blame.  Sukey  is  a  veritable  little  Eve,  and  —  " 

"  Billy  Little,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  place  the  blame  on 
Sukey.  I  suppose  Die  tells  you  she  was  to  blame." 

"  By  Jove  !  I've  made  a  nice  mess  of  it,"  muttered  Billy. 
"  No,  Die  blames  himself  entirely,  but  I  know  whereof  I 
speak.  That  girl  is  in  love  with  him,  and  has  set  this  trap  to 
steal  him  from  you  and  get  him  for  herself.  She  has  been 
trying  for  a  long  time  to  entrap  him,  and  you  are  helping 
her.  Die  is  a  true,  pure  man,  who  has  been  enticed  into 
error  and  suffers  for  it.  You  had  better  die  unmarried  than 
to  lose  him." 

"  I  hope  to  die  unmarried,  and  I  pray  that  I  may  die 
soon,"  returned  Rita  with  a  deep,  sad  sigh. 

"  No,  you'll  not  die  unmarried.  You  will  marry  Will 
iams,"  said  Billy,  looking  earnestly  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  shall  not." 

"  If  you  wish  to  throw  Die  over  and  marry  Williams,  you 
should  openly  avow  it,  and  not  seize  this  misfortune  of 
Die's  as  an  excuse." 

"  Oh,  Billy  Little,  you  don't  think  me  capable  of  that, 
do  you  ?  "  answered  Rita,  reproachfully. 

"  Do  you  give  me  your  word  you  will  not  marry  Will 
iams  ?  "  asked  Billy,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  give  you  my  word  I  will  not  marry  him,  if  —  if  I 
can  help  it,"  she  answered,  and  poor  Billy  collapsed.  He 
took  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  to  dry  the  perspi 
ration  on  his  face,  although  the  room  was  cold,  and  Rita 
drew  forth  her  handkerchief  to  dry  her  tears. 

"  Die  loves  you,  Rita.  He  is  one  man  out  of  ten 
thousand.  He  is  honest,  true,  and  pure-minded.  He  has 


308  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

sinned,  I  know  ;  but  he  has  repented.  One  sin  doesn't 
make  a  sinner,  and  repentance  is  the  market  price  of 
mercy.  I  know  a  great  deal  of  this  world,  my  girl,  and  of 
its  men  and  women,  and  I  tell  you  Die  is  as  fine  a  char 
acter  as  I  know.  I  don't  know  a  man  that  is  his  equal. 
Don't  let  this  one  fault  condemn  him  and  yourself  to 
wretchedness." 

"  I  shall  not  be  wretched,"  she  replied,  the  picture  of 
woe,  "  for  I  don't  —  don't  care  for  him.  I'm  surprised, 
Billy  Little,  that  I  do  not,  and  I  think  less  of  myself. 
There  must  be  something  wrong  about  me.  I  must  be 
wicked  when  my  —  my  love  can  turn  so  easily  to  indiffer 
ence.  But  I  do  not  care  for  him.  He  is  nothing  to  me 
any  more.  You  may  be  sure  I  speak  the  truth  and  —  and 
although  I  am  glad  to  have  you  here,  I  don't  want  you  to 
remain  if  you  continue  to  speak  of  —  of  him." 

The  situation  certainly  was  confusing,  and  Billy,  in  a 
revery,  resorted  to  Maxwelton's  braes  as  a  brain  clarifier. 
Soon  wild  thoughts  came  to  his  mind,  and  wilder  hopes 
arose  in  his  bachelor  heart.  This  girl,  whom  he  had  loved 
for,  lo,  these  many  years,  was  now  free  of  heart  and  hand. 
Could  it  be  possible  there  was  hope  for  him  ?  Pat  with 
this  strange  thought  spoke  Rita  :  — 

"  You  say  he  is  a  splendid  man,  pure  and  true  and  hon 
est  ;  but  you  know,  Billy  Little,  that  measured  by  the 
standard  of  your  life,  he  is  not.  I  used  to  think  he  was 
like  you,  that  you  had  made  him  like  yourself,  and  I  did 
love  him,  Billy  Little.  I  did  love  him.  But  there  is  no 
one  like  you.  You  are  now  my  only  friend."  Tears  came 
to  her  eyes,  and  she  leaned  toward  Billy,  gently  taking 
his  hand  between  her  soft  palms.  Tumult  caused  the 
poor  bachelor  heart  to  lose  self-control,  and  out  of  its  ful 
ness  to  speak :  — 

"  You  would  not  marry  me  ? "  he  asked.  The  words 
were  meant  as  a  question,  but  fortunately  Rita  understood 


WISE   MISS   TOUSY  309 

them  as  a  mere  statement  of  a  patent  fact,  spoken  jestingly, 
so  she  answered  with  a  laugh  :  — 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  could  not  marry  you,  Billy  Little. 
But  I  wish  you  were  young ;  then,  do  you  know,  I  would 
make  you  propose  to  me.  You  should  not  have  been  born 
so  soon,  Billy  Little.  But  if  I  can't  have  you  for  my  hus 
band,  I'll  have  you  for  my  second  father,  and  you  shall  not 
desert  me." 

Her  jest  quickly  drove  the  wild  hopes  out  of  the  bach 
elor  heart,  and  Billy  trembled  when  he  thought  of  what  he 
had  tried  to  say.  He  left  the  house  much  agitated,  and 
returned  to  see  Miss  Tousy.  After  a  consultation  with  that 
lady  covering  an  hour,  he  went  to  the  tavern  and  took  the 
stage  for  home. 

Next  day,  in  the  midst  of  Die's  struggles  for  peace,  and 
at  a  time  when  he  had  almost  determined  to  marry  Sukey 
Yates,  a  letter  came  from  Miss  Tousy,  asking  him  to  go  to 
see  her.  While  waiting  for  the  stage,  Die  exhibited  Miss 
Tousy's  letter,  and  Billy  feigned  surprise. 

Two  or  three  days  previous  to  the  writing  of  Miss  Tousy's 
letter,  Rita  had  told  that  sympathetic  young  lady  the  story 
e <:  the  trouble  with  Die.  The  confidence  was  given  one 
afternoon  in  Miss  Tousy's  cosey  little  parlor. 

"  When  is  your  friend  Mr.  Bright  coming  to  see  you? " 
asked  Miss  Tousy.  "  You  are  welcome  to  meet  him  here 
if  you  cannot  receive  him  at  home." 

"  He  will  not  come  again  at  all,"  answered  Rita,  closely 
scanning  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  her  friend,  in  much  concern,  "  has  your 
mother  at  last  forced  you  to  give  him  up  ? " 

"  No,  mother  knows  nothing  of  it  yet  —  nothing  at  all. 
I  simply  sent  his  ring  back  and  don't  want  to  —  to  see  him 
again.  Never." 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  are  crazy,"  exclaimed  Miss  Tousy. 
"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  doing  —  unless  you  have 


3io  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

grown  fond  of  Mr.  Williams  ;  but  I  can't  believe  that  is  true. 
No  girl  would  think  twice  of  him  when  so  splendid  a  fellow 
as  Die  —  Mr.  Bright  —  was  —  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  interrupted  Rita,  "that  can  never  be  true. 
I  would  never  care  for  any  man  as  I  cared  for  —  for  him. 
But  I  care  for  him  no  longer.  It  is  all  over  between  — 
between  —  it  is  all  over." 

From  the  hard  expression  of  the  girl's  face  one  might 
easily  have  supposed  she  was  speaking  the  truth  ;  there 
was  no  trace  of  emotion. 

"  But,  Rita  !  This  will  never  do!"  insisted  Miss  Tousy. 
"  You  don't  know  yourself.  You  are  taking  a  step  that 
will  wreck  your  happiness.  You  should  also  consider 
him." 

"  You  don't  know  what  he  has  done,"  answered  Rita, 
still  looking  down  at  her  folded  hands. 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  has  done.  You  did  not  make 
yourself  love  him,  and  you  cannot  throw  off  your  love. 
You  may  for  a  time  convince  yourself  that  you  are  indif 
ferent,  but  you  are  simply  lying  to  yourself,  my  dear  girl, 
and  you  had  better  lie  to  any  one  else  —  the  consequences 
will  be  less  serious.  Never  deceive  yourself,  Rita.  Ttut 
is  a  deception  you  can't  maintain.  You  may  perhaps 
deceive  all  the  rest  of  the  world  so  long  as  you  live  — 
many  a  person  has  done  it  —  but  yourself  —  hopeless, 
Rita,  perfectly  hopeless." 

"  I'm  not  deceiving  myself,"  answered  the  wilful  girl. 
"  You  don't  know  what  he  has  done." 

"  I  don't  care,"  retorted  Miss  Tousy  warmly.  "  If  he 
were  my  lover,  I  —  I  tell  you,  Rita  Bays,  I'd  forgive  him. 
I'd  keep  him.  He  is  one  out  of  a  thousand  —  so  big  and 
handsome ;  so  honest,  strong,  and  true." 

"  But  he's  not  true  ;  that's  the  trouble,"  answered  Rita, 
angrily,  although  there  had  been  a  soft,  tell-tale  radiance 
in  her  eyes  when  Miss  Tousy  praised  him. 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY  311 

"  Ah,  he  has  been  inveigled  into  smiling  upon  another 
girl,"  asked  Miss  Tousy,  laughing  and  taking  Rita's  hand. 
"  That  is  the  penalty  you  must  pay  for  having  so  splendid 
a  lover.  Of  course  other  girls  will  want  him.  I  should 
like  to  have  him  myself  —  and,  Rita,  there  are  lots  of  girls 
bold  enough  or  weak  enough  to  seek  him  outright.  You 
mustn't  see  those  little  things.  Frequently  the  best  use  a 
woman  can  make  of  her  eyes  is  to  shut  them." 

In  place  of  shutting  her  eyes^  Rita  began  to  weep,  and 
Miss  Tousy  continued  :  — 

"  This  man  loves  you  and  no  other,  my  sweet  one. 
That's  the  great  thing,  after  all.  No  girl  can  steal  his 
heart  from  you  —  of  that  you  may  be  sure." 

"  But  I  say  you  don't  know,"  sobbed  Rita.  "  I  will  tell 
you."  And  she  did  tell  her,  stumbling,  sobbing,  and 
blushing  through  the  narrative  of  Die's  unforgivable  per 
fidy. 

Miss  Tousy  whistled  in  surprise.  After  a  moment  of 
revery  she  said  :  "  She  is  trying  to  steal  him,  Rita,  and 
she  is  as  bad  as  she  can  be.  If  you  will  give  me  your 
promise  that  you  will  never  tell,  I'll  tell  you  something 
Sue  Davidson  told  me."  Rita  promised.  "  Not  long 
since  your  brother  Tom  called  on  Sue  and  left  his  great 
coat  in  the  hall.  Sue's  young  sister  got  to  rummaging 
in  Tom's  great-coat  pockets,  for  candy,  I  suppose,  and 
found  a  letter  from  this  same  Sukey  Yates  to  Tom.  Sue 
told  me  about  the  letter.  It  breathed  the  most  passionate 
love,  and  implored  Tom  to  save  her  from  the  ruin  he  had 
wrought.  So  you  see,  Die  is  not  to  blame."  She  paused, 
expecting  her  listener  to  agree  with  her ;  but  Rita  sighed 
and  murmured :  — 

"He  is  not  excusable  because  others  have  been 
wicked." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  wouldn't  let  that  little  wretch  steal 
him  from  me,"  insisted  Miss  Tousy.  "  That's  what  she's 


312  A    FOREST   HEARTH 

trying  to  do,  and  you're  helping  her.  When  she  was  here 
I  saw  plainly  that  she  was  infatuated  with  him,  and  was 
bound  to  win  him  at  any  price — at  any  cost.  She  had  no 
eyes  nor  dimples  for  any  one  else  when  he  was  by ;  yet  he 
did  not  notice  her  —  did  not  see  her  smiles  and  dimples. 
Don't  tell  me  he  cares  for  her.  He  had  eyes  for  no  one 
but  you.  Haven't  you  seen  how  other  girls  act  toward 
him  ?  Didn't  you  notice  how  Sue  Davidson  went  at  him 
every  chance  she  got  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Rita,  still  studying  her  folded  hands, 
and  regardless  of  her  tear-stained  face. 

"  I  think  Sue  is  the  prettiest  girl  in  town,  excepting 
you,"  continued  Miss  Tousy,  "  and  if  she  could  not  attract 
him,  it  would  be  hopeless  for  any  one  else  to  try." 

"  Nonsense,"  murmured  Rita,  referring  to  that  part  of 
Miss  Tousy's  remark  which  applied  to  herself. 

"  No,  it  isn't  nonsense,  Rita.  You  are  the  prettiest  girl 
I  ever  saw  —  but  no  matter.  She  is  pretty  enough  for  me 
to  hate  her.  She  is  the  sort  of  pretty  girl  that  all  women 
hate  and  fear.  She  obtrudes  her  prettiness  —  keeps  her 
attractions  always  en  Evidence,  as  the  French  say.  She 
moistens  her  lips  to  make  them  tempting,  and  twitches  the 
right  side  of  her  face  to  work  that  dimple  of  hers.  She  is 
so  attractive  that  she  is  not  usually  driven  to  seek  a  man 
openly ;  but  Die  —  I  mean  Mr.  Bright  —  did  not  even  see 
her  smiles.  Every  one  else  did ;  and  I  will  wager  any 
thing  you  like  she  has  written  love-notes  to  him  —  real 
love-notes.  He  would,  of  course,  be  too  honorable  to  tell. 
He's  not  the  sort  of  man  who  would  kiss  and  tell  —  he  is 
the  sort  women  trust  with  their  favors  —  but  I'll  wager 
I'm  right  about  Sue  Davidson."  She  was  right,  though 
Die's  modesty  had  not  permitted  him  to  see  Miss  D.'s  notes 
in  the  light  Miss  Tousy  saw  them. 

"  He  is  not  the  man,"  continued  Miss  Tousy,  "  to  blame  a 
girl  for  a  fault  of  that  sort,  even  in  his  own  mind,  and  he 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY  313 

would  not  explain  at  a  woman's  expense  to  save  his  life. 
With  a  man  of  his  sort,  the  girl  is  to  blame  nine  times  out 
of  ten.  I  wouldn't  give  a  fippenny  bit  for  a  man  no  other 
girl  wanted.  There  is  a  large  class  of  women  you  don't 
know  yet,  Rita.  You  are  too  young.  The  world  has  a 
batch  of  mawkish  theories  about  them,  but  there  are  also  a 
few  very  cold  facts  kept  in  the  dark,  —  lodge  secrets  among 
the  sex.  Die  is  modest,  and  modesty  in  an  attractive  man 
is  dangerous  —  the  most  dangerous  thing  in  the  world, 
Rita.  Deliver  me  from  a  shy,  attractive  man,  unless  he 
cares  a  great  deal  for  me.  Shynes's  in  a  man  is  apt  to 
make  a  girl  bold." 

"  It  did  not  make  me  bold,"  said  Rita,  with  a  touch  of 
fire. 

"  Not  in  the  least  ?  "  asked  Miss  Tousy,  leaning  over  the 
girl's  lap,  looking  up  into  her  face  and  laughing.  "  Now 
come,  Rita,  confess;  you're  as  modest  as  a  girl  has  any 
good  reason  to  be,  but  tell  me,  didn't  you  —  didn't  you 
do  your  part?  Now  confess." 

"Well,  I  may  have  been  a  little  bold,  I  admit,  a  very 
little  —  just  at  —  you  know,  just  at  one  time.  I  had  to  be 
a  little  —  just  a  little  —  you  see  —  you  know,  outspoken, 
or  —  yOU  know  what  I  mean.  He  might  not  have  — oh, 
you  understand  how  such  things  happen." 

The  hands  in  the  lap  were  growing  very  interesting 
during  these  remarks,  and  the  tear-stained  cheeks  were 
very  hot  and  red. 

"Yes,  yes,  dear,"  said  Miss  Tousy,  leaning  forward  and 
kissing  the  hot  cheeks,  "  yes,  yes,  sweet  one.  I  know  one 
just  has  to  help  them  a  bit;  but  that  is  not  boldness,  that 
is  charity." 

"  Since  I  think  about  it,  perhaps  I  was,"  murmured  Rita. 
"  I  know  I  have  often  turned  hot  all  over  because  of  sev 
eral  things  I  did ;  but  I  cared  so  much  for  him.  I  was  so 
young  and  ignorant.  That  was  over  two  years  ago.  I 


314  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

cared  so  much  for  him  and  was  all  bewildered.  Nothing 
seemed  real  to  me  during  several  months  of  that  time. 
Part  of  the  time  it  seemed  I  was  in  a  nightmare,  and  again, 
it  was  like  being  in  heaven.  A  poor  girl  is  not  a  respon 
sible  being  at  such  times.  She  doesn't  know  what  she 
does  nor  what  she  wants ;  but  it's  all  over  now.  I  ... 
don't  .  .  .  care  anything  .  .  .  about  .  .  .  him  now.  It's 
all  over."  Such  a  mournful  little  voice  you  never  heard, 
and  such  a  mournful  little  face  you  never  saw.  Still,  it 
was  all  over. 

Miss  Tousy  softly  kissed  her  and  said  :  "  Well,  well,  we'll 
straighten  it  all  out.  There,  don't  cry,  sweet  one."  But 
Rita  did  cry,  and  found  comfort  in  resting  her  head  on 
Miss  Tousy's  sympathetic  bosom. 

The  letter  Sue  Davidson  had  found  altered  Rita's  feel 
ing  toward  Sukey ;  but  it  left  untouched  Die's  sin  against 
herself,  and  she  insisted  that  she  did  not  care  for  him,  and 
never,  never  would  forgive.  With  all  her  gentleness  she 
had  strong  nerves,  and  her  spirit,  when  aroused,  was  too 
high  to  brook  patiently  the  insult  Die  had  put  upon  her. 
Miss  Tousy's  words  had  not  moved  her  from  her  position. 
Die  was  no  longer  Die.  He  was  another  person,  and  she 
could  love  no  man  but  Die.  She  had  loved  him  all  her 
life,  and  she  could  love  none  other.  With  such  poor 
sophistry  did  she  try  to  convince  herself  that  she  was 
indifferent.  At  times  she  succeeded  beyond  her  most 
sanguine  hope,  and  tried  to  drive  conviction  home  by  a 
song.  But  the  song  always  changed  to  tears,  the  tears 
to  anger,  anger  to  sophistry,  and  all  in  turn  to  a  dull 
pain  at  the  heart,  making  her  almost  wish  she  were  dead. 


Meanwhile  the  affairs  of  Fisher  and  Fox  were  becoming 
more  and  more  involved.  Crops  had  failed,  and  collec 
tions  could  not  be  made.  Williams,  under  alleged  impera- 


"MISS   TOUSY   SOFTLY    KISSED    HKK    AND   SAID,    .    .    .    'THERE,    DON'T  CRY, 
SWEET   ONE.'  " 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY  317 

tive  orders  from  Boston,  was  pressing  for  money  or  security. 
Tom  had  "overdrawn  "  his  account  in  Williams's  office  ;  and, 
with  the  penitentiary  staring  him  in  the  face,  was  clamor 
ing  for  money  to  make  good  the  overdraft.  At  home  he 
used  the  words  "  overdraft "  and  "  overdrawn  "  in  confess 
ing  the  situation.  Williams,  when  speaking  to  Tom  of 
the  shortage,  had  used  the  words  "embezzlement"  and 
"thief." 

Rita's  illness  had  prevented  Williams's  visits ;  but  when 
she  recovered,  he  began  calling,  though  he  was  ominously 
sullen  in  his  courtship,  and  his  passion  for  the  girl  looked 
very  much  like  a  mania. 

One  evening  at  supper  table,  Tom  said  :  "  Father,  I  must 
have  five  hundred  dollars.  I  have  overdrawn  my  account 
with  Williams,  and  I'll  lose  my  place  if  it  is  not  paid.  I 
must  have  it.  Can't  you  help  me  ?  " 

"  What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing  with  the  money  ?  " 
asked  Tom,  Sr.  "  I  have  paid  your  tailor  bills  and  your 
other  bills  to  a  sufficient  amount,  in  all  conscience,  and 
what  could  you  have  done  with  the  money  you  got  from 
Williams  and  your  salary  ?  " 

Tom  tried  to  explain,  and  soon  the  Chief  Justice  joined 
in :  "  La,  father,  there  are  so  many  temptations  in  town 
for  young  men,  and  our  Tom  is  so  popular.  Money  goes 
fast,  doesn't  it,  Tom  ?  The  boy  can't  tell  what  went  with  it. 
Poor  Tom !  If  your  father  was  half  a  man,  he'd  get  the 
money  for  you  ;  that's  what  he  would.  If  your  sister  was 
not  the  most  wicked,  selfish  girl  alive,  she  could  settle  all 
our  troubles.  Mr.  Williams  would  not  press  his  brother- 
in-law  or  his  wife's  father.  I  have  toiled  and  suffered  and 
worked  for  that  girl  all  my  life,  and  so  has  her  father,  and 
so  have  you,  Tom.  We  have  all  toiled  and  suffered 
and  worked  for  her,  and  now  she's  too  ungrateful  to 
help  us.  Oh,  '  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth,'  as  the 
Immortal  Bard  of  Avon  truly  says." 


318  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

Rita  began  to  cry  and  rose  from  her  chair,  intending  to 
leave  the  room,  but  her  mother  detained  her. 

"Sit  down  !  "  she  commanded.  "  At  least  you  shall  hear 
of  the  trouble  you  bring  upon  us.  I  have  been  thinking  of 
a  plan,  and  maybe  you  can  help  us  carry  it  out  if  you  want 
to  do  anything  to  help  your  father  and  brother.  As  for 
myself,  I  don't  care.  I  am  always  willing  to  suffer  and 
endure.  '  Blessed  are  they  that  suffer,  for  they  shall  inherit 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.'  " 

Tom  pricked  up  his  ears,  Tom,  Sr.,  put  down  his  knife 
and  fork  to  listen,  and  Rita  again  took  her  seat  at  table. 

"  Billy  Little  has  plenty  of  money,"  continued  Mrs. 
Margarita,  addressing  her  daughter.  "The  old  skinflint 
has  refused  to  lend  it  to  your  father  or  Tom,  but  perhaps 
he'll  not  refuse  you  if  you  ask  him.  I  believe  the  old  fool 
is  in  love  with  you.  What  they  all  want  with  you  I  can't 
see,  but  if  you'll  write  to  him  —  " 

"Oh,  I  can't,  mother,  I  can't,"  cried  Rita,  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

I  will  not  drag  the  reader  through  another  scene  of 
heart  failure  and  maternal  raving.  Rita,  poor  girl,  at  last 
surrendered,  and,  amid  tears  of  humiliation,  wrote  to  Billy 
Little,  telling  of  her  father's  distress,  her  mother's  com 
mands,  and  her  own  grief  because  she  was  compelled  to 
apply  to  him.  "  You  need  not  fear  loss  of  your  money, 
my  friend,"  she  wrote,  honestly  believing  that  she  told  the 
truth.  "  You  will  soon  be  repaid.  Mr.  Williams  is  demand 
ing  money  from  my  father  and  Uncle  Jim,  and  I  dislike, 
for  many  reasons  well  known  to  you,  to  be  under  obliga 
tions  to  him.  If  you  can,  without  inconvenience  to  your 
self,  lend  this  money,  it  will  help  father  greatly  just  at  this 
time,  and  will  perhaps  save  me  from  a  certain  frightful 
importunity.  The  money  will  be  repaid  to  you  after  har 
vest,  when  collections  become  easier.  If  I  did  not  honestly 
believe  so,  even  my  mother's  commands  would  not  induce 
me  to  write  this  letter." 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY  319 

Rita  fully  believed  the  money  would  be  paid ;  but  Billy 
knew  that  if  he  made  the  loan,  he  would  be  throwing  his 
money  away  forever. 

After  making  good  Die's  loss  of  twenty-six  hundred  dol 
lars,  —  which  sum,  you  may  remember,  went  to  Bays,  — 
Little  had  remaining  in  his  strong-box  notes  to  the  amount 
of  two  thousand  dollars,  which,  together  with  his  small 
stock  of  goods  and  two  or  three  hundred  dollars  in  cash, 
constituted  the  total  sum  of  his  worldly  wealth.  He  had 
reached  a  point  in  life  where  he  plainly  saw  old  age  staring 
him  in  the  face —  an  ugly  stare  which  few  can  return  with 
equanimity.  The  small  bundle  of  notes  was  all  that  stood 
between  him  and  want  when  that  time  should  come  "  sans 
everything."  But  Williams  was  staring  Rita  in  the  face, 
and  if  the  little  hoard  could  save  her,  she  was  welcome 
to  it. 

Billy's  sleep  the  night  after  he  received  Rita's  letter  was 
meagre  and  disturbed,  but  next  morning  he  took  his  notes 
and  his  poor  little  remainder  of  cash  and  went  to  Indian 
apolis.  He  discounted  the  notes,  as  he  had  done  in  Die's 
case,  and  with  the  proceeds  he  went  to  the  store  of  Fisher  and 
Bays.  Fisher  was  present  when  Billy  entered  the  private 
office  and  announced  his  readiness  to  supply  the  firm  with 
twenty-three  hundred  dollars  on  their  note  of  hand.  The 
money,  of  course,  being  borrowed  by  the  firm,  went  to  the 
firm  account,  and  was  at  once  applied  by  Fisher  upon 
one  of  the  many  Williams  notes.  Therefore  Tom's  "over 
drafts  "  remained  in  statu  quo ;  likewise  the  penitentiary. 

The  payment  of  Billy  Little's  twenty-three  hundred  dol 
lars  upon  the  Williams  debt  did  not  help  matters  in  the 
least.  The  notes  owed  by  the  firm  of  Fisher  and  Bays  to 
the  Williams  house  aggregated  nearly  fourteen  thousand 
dollars,  and  Billy's  poor  little  all  did  not  stem  the  tide  of 
importunity  one  day,  although  it  left  him  penniless.  The 
thought  of  his  poverty  was  of  course  painful  to  Billy,  but 


320  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

he  rode  home  that  evening  without  seeing  Rita,  happy  and 
exultant  in  the  mistaken  belief  that  he  had  helped  to  save 
her  from  the  grasp  of  Williams. 

That  same  evening  at  supper  Tom,  Sr.,  told  of  Billy 
Little's  loan,  and  there  was  at  once  an  outburst  of  wrath 
from  mother  and  son  because  part  of  the  money  had  not 
been  applied  to  Tom's  "overdraft." 

"  The  pitiful  sum  of  twenty-three  hundred  dollars ! " 
cried  Tom.  "  The  old  skinflint  might  as  well  have  kept 
his  money  for  all  the  good  it  will  do  us.  Do  you  think 
that  will  keep  Williams  from  suing  us  ? "  In  Tom's 
remarks  Mrs.  Bays  concurred,  saying  that  she  "  always 
knew  he  was  a  mean  old  miser." 

Rita  tried  to  speak  in  her  friend's  defence,  but  the  others 
furiously  silenced  her,  so  she  broke  down  entirely,  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  wept  bitterly.  She  went 
through  the  after-supper  work  amid  blinding  tears,  and 
when  she  had  finished  she  sought  her  room.  Without 
undressing  she  lay  down  on  the  bed,  sobbing  till  the  morn 
ing  light  shone  in  at  her  window.  Before  she  had  lost  Die 
her  heart  could  fly  from  every  trouble  and  find  sweet  com 
fort  in  thoughts  of  him  ;  but  now  there  was  no  refuge.  She 
was  alone  in  the  world,  save  for  Billy  Little.  She  loved 
her  father,  but  she  knew  he  was  weak.  She  loved  Tom, 
but  she  could  not  help  despising  him.  She  loved  her 
mother,  but  she  feared  her,  and  knew  there  was  no  com 
fort  or  consolation  for  her  in  that  hard  heart.  Billy  had 
not  come  to  see  her  when  he  brought  the  money,  and  she 
feared  she  had  offended  him  by  asking  for  it. 

Such  was  the  situation  when  Die  received  Miss  Tousy's 
letter  inviting  him  to  call  upon  her. 


Miss  Tousy  greeted  Die  kindly  when  he  presented  him 
self  at  her  door,  and  led  him  to  the  same  cosey  front  parlor 


WISE   MISS   TOUSY  321 

wherein  Rita  had  imparted  the  story  of  her  woes  and  of 
Die's  faithlessness.  She  left  her  guest  in  the  parlor  a 
moment  or  two,  while  she  despatched  a  note  to  a  friend 
in  town.  When  she  returned  she  said  :  — 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  of  the  trouble  between  you  and  Rita, 
and  am  determined  it  shall  be  made  up  at  once." 

"  I  fear  that  is  impossible,  Miss  Tousy,"  returned  Die, 
sadly.  "  She  will  never  forgive  me.  I  should  not  were  I 
in  her  place.  I  do  not  expect  it  and  am  not  worth  it." 

"  But  she  will  forgive  you;  she  will  not  be  able  to  hold 
out  against  you  five  minutes  if  you  crowd  her.  Trust  my 
word.  I  know  more  about  girls  than  you  do ;  but,  above 
all,  I  know  Rita." 

Miss  Tousy  watched  him  as  he  stood  before  her,  hang 
ing  his  head,  a  very  handsome  picture  of  abject  humility. 
After  a  moment  of  silence  Die  answered :  — 

"  Miss  Tousy,  the  truth  is,  I  have  lost  all  self-respect, 
and  know  that  I  am  both  a  fool  and  a  —  a  criminal.  Rita 
will  not,  cannot,  and  ought  not  to  forgive  me.  I  am  en 
tirely  unworthy  of  her.  She  is  gentle  and  tender  as  she 
can  be ;  but  she  has  more  spirit  than  you  would  suspect. 
I  have  seen  her  under  the  most  trying  circumstances,  and 
with  all  her  gentleness  she  is  very  strong.  I  have  lost  her 
and  must  give  her  up." 

"You'll  be  no  such  fool,"  cried  Miss  Tousy;  "but  some 
one  is  knocking  at  the  front  door.  Be  seated,  please." 
She  opened  the  front  hall  door,  kissed  "some  one"  who 
had  knocked,  and  said  to  "  some  one  "  :  — 

"  Step  into  the  parlor,  please.  I  will  be  with  you  coon." 
Then  she  closed  the  parlor  door  and  basely  fled. 

Die  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  Rita,  turning  backward  tow 
ard  the  door,  stood  trembling,  her  hand  on  the  knob. 

"  Don't  go,  Rita,"  said  Die,  huskily.  "  I  did  not  know 
you  were  coming  here.  I  give  you  my  word,  I  did  not 
set  a  trap  for  you.  Miss  Tousy  will  tell  you  I  had  no 


322  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

thought  of  seeing  you  here.  I  wanted  to  see  you,  but  I 
would  not  try  to  entrap  you.  I  intended  going  to  your  house 
openly  that  you  might  refuse  to  see  me  if  you  wished ;  but 
since  you  are  here,  please  —  oh,  Rita,  for  God's  sake,  stay 
and  hear  me.  I  am  almost  crazed  by  what  I  have  suffered, 
though  I  deserve  it  all,  all.  You  don't  know  what  I  have 
to  say."  She  partly  opened  the  door ;  but  he  stepped 
quickly  to  her  side,  shut  the  door,  and  spoke  almost 
angrily :  — 

"You  shall  hear  me,  and  after  I  have  spoken,  if  you 
wish,  you  may  go,  but  not  until  then." 

He  unclasped  her  hand  from  the  knob,  and,  using  more 
of  his  great  strength  than  he  knew,  led  her  to  a  chair  and 
brought  another  for  himself. 

The  touch  of  command  in  Die's  manner  sent  a  strange 
thrill  to  the  girl's  heart,  and  she  learned  in  one  brief 
moment  that  all  her  sophistry  had  been  in  vain ;  that  her 
love  was  not  dead,  and  could  not  be  killed.  That  knowl 
edge,  however,  did  not  change  her  resolution  not  to  for 
give  him.  You  see,  there  was  a  touch  of  the  Chief  Justice 
in  the  girl. 

"  I  want  you  to  hear  me,  Rita,  and,  if  you  can,  I  want 
you  to  forgive  me,  and  then  I  want  you  to  forget  me," 
said  Die. 

The  words  "  forget  me "  were  not  what  she  had  ex 
pected  to  hear.  She  had  supposed  he  would  make  a  plea 
for  forgiveness  and  beg  to  be  taken  back ;  but  the  words 
"  forget  me,"  seeming  to  lead  in  another  direction,  sur 
prised  her.  With  all  her  resolutions  she  was  not  prepared 
to  forget.  She  lifted  her  eyes  for  a  fleeting  glance,  and 
could  not  help  thinking  that  the  memory  of  his  face  had 
been  much  less  effective  than  its  presence.  The  tones 
of  his  voice,  too,  were  stronger  and  sweeter  at  close  range 
than  she  had  remembered.  In  short,  Die  by  her  side  and 
Die  twenty-five  miles  away  were  two  different  propositions 


WISE   MISS   TOUSY  323 

-the  former  a  very  dangerous  and  irresistible  one,  indeed. 
Still,  she  would  not  forgive  him.  She  could  not  and  would 
not  forget  him;  but  she  would  shut  her  eyes  to  the  hand 
some  face,  she  would  close  her  ears  to  the  deep,  strong 
voice,  she  would  harden  her  heart  to  his  ardent  love,  and, 
alas!  to  her  own.  She  insisted  to  herself  that  she  no 
longer  loved  him,  and  never,  never  would. 

Every  word  that  Sukey  had  ever  spoken  concerning 
Die,  every  meeting  of  which  she  knew  that  had  ever  taken 
place  between  him  and  the  dimpler,  —  in  fact,  all  the  trivial 
events  that  had  happened  between  her  lover  and  the  girl 
who  was  trying  to  steal  him  from  her,  including  the  occur 
rence  at  Scott's  social,  —  came  vividly  back  to  Rita  at  that 
moment  with  exaggerated  meaning,  and  told  her  she  had 
for  years  been  a  poor,  trusting  dupe.  She  would  listen  to 
Die  because  he  was  the  stronger  and  could  compel  her  to 
remain  in  the  room  ;  but  when  he  should  finish,  she  would 
go  and  would  never  speak  to  Miss  Tousy  again. 

"  This  is  a  terrible  calamity  I  have  brought  upon  us," 
said  Die,  speaking  with  difficulty  and  constraint.  "  It  is 
like  blindness  or  madness,  and  means  wretchedness  for 
life  to  you  and  me." 

Still  the  unexpected  direction,  thought  Rita,  but  she  an 
swered  out  of  her  firm  resolve :  — 

"  I  shall  not  be  wretched,  for  I  do  not  —  don't  care. 
The  time  was  when  I  did  care  very,  very  much ;  but  now 
I  — "  She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  and  her  conscience  re 
proached  her,  for  she  knew  she  was  uttering  a  big,  black  lie. 

Die  had  expected  scorn,  and  had  thought  he  would  be 
able  to  bear  it  without  flinching.  He  had  fortified  himself 
days  before  by  driving  all  hope  out  of  his  heart,  but  (as 
we  say  and  feel  when  our  dear  ones  die)  he  was  not  pre 
pared,  even  though  he  well  knew  what  was  coming.  Her 
words  stunned  him  for  a  moment,  but  he  soon  pulled  him 
self  together,  and  his  unselfish  love  brought  a  feeling  akin 


324  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

to  relief :  a  poor,  dry  sort  of  joy,  because  he  had  learned 
that  she  did  not  suffer  the  pain  that  was  torturing  him. 
No  mean  part  of  his  pain  was  because  of  Rita's  suffering. 
If  she  did  not  suffer,  he  could  endure  the  penalty  of  his 
sin  with  greater  fortitude.  This  slight  relief  came  to  him, 
not  because  his  love  was  weak,  but  because  his  unselfish 
ness  was  strong. 

"  If  I  could  really  believe  that  you  do  not  care,"  he  said, 
struggling  with  a  torturing  lump  in  his  throat,  "  if  I  could 
surely  know  that  you  do  not  suffer  the  pain  I  feel,  I  might 
endure  it  —  God  in  heaven!  I  suppose  I  might  endure  it. 
But  when  I  think  that  I  have  brought  suffering  to  you,  I 
am  almost  wild." 

The  girl's  hands  were  folded  demurely  upon  her  lap,  and 
she  was  gazing  down  at  them.  She  lifted  her  eyes  for  an 
instant,  and  there  was  an  unwonted  hardness  in  them  as 
she  answered  :  "  You  need  not  waste  any  sympathy  on  me. 
I  don't  want  it." 

"  Is  it  really  true,  Rita,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  no  longer 
care  for  me  ?  Was  your  love  a  mere  garment  you  could 
throw  off  at  will  ?  "  He  paused,  but  Rita  making  no  reply, 
he  continued :  "  It  wounds  my  vanity  to  learn  that  I  so 
greatly  overestimated  your  love  for  me,  and  I  can  hardly 
believe  that  you  speak  the  truth,  but  —  but  I  hope — I 
almost  hope  you  do.  Every  sense  of  honor  I  possess  tells 
me  I  must  accept  the  wages  of  my  sin  and  marry  Sukey 
Yates,  even  though  — 

Suddenly  a  change  came  over  the  scene.  The  girl  who 
had  been  so  passive  and  cold  at  once  became  active  and 
very  warm.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  panting  with  excite 
ment.  Resolutions  and  righteous  indignation  were  scat 
tered  to  the  four  winds  by  the  tremendous  shock  of  his 
words.  Sukey  at  last  had  stolen  him.  That  thought 
seemed  to  be  burning  itself  into  the  very  heart  of  her  con 
sciousness. 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY  325 

"You  — you  marry  Sukey  Yates  !  "  she  cried,  breathing 
heavily  and  leaning  toward  Die,  one  hand  resting  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair,  "you  marry  her?"  The  question  was 
almost  a  wail. 

"  But  if  you  no  longer  care  there  can  be  no  reason  why 
I  should  not,"  said  Die,  hardly  knowing  in  the  whirl  of  his 
surprise  what  he  was  saying. 

Rita  thought  of  the  letter  to  Tom,  and  all  the  sympathetic 
instincts  of  her  nature  sprang  up  to  protect  Die,  and  to 
save  him  from  Sukey's  wicked  designs. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  falling  back  into  her  chair,  "you  surely 
did  not  believe  me  !  " 

"  And  you  do  care  ?  "  asked  Die,  almost  stunned  by  her 
sudden  change  of  front.  Rita's  conduct  had  always  been 
so  sedate  and  sensible  that  he  did  not  suppose  she  was 
possessed  of  ordinary  feminine  weaknesses. 

"  Oh,  Die,"  she  replied,  "  I  never  thought  you  would 
desert  me."  /^consistency  may  also  be  a  jewel. 

Die  concluded  he  was  an  incarnate  mistake.  Whichever 
way  he  turned,  he  seemed  to  be  wrong. 

"  I  desert  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  you  returned  my 
ring  and  did  not  even  answer  my  letter,  and  now  your 
scorn  —  " 

"  What  else  could  you  expect  ? "  asked  the  girl,  in  a  pas 
sionate  flow  of  tears. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  expected,  but  I  certainly  did  not 
expect  this,"  answered  Die,  musing  on  the  blessed  fault  of 
inconsistency  that  dwells  in  every  normal  woman's  breast. 
"  I  did  not  expect  this,  or  I  should  have  acted  differently 
toward  her  after  you  returned  the  ring.  I  would  not  have 
-I  —  I  —  God  help  me!"  and  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

"You  would  not  have  done  what,  Die?  Tell  me  all." 
Her  heart  came  to  him  in  his  trouble.  He  had  sinned,  but 
he  was  suffering,  and  that  she  could  not  bear. 


326  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

The  low,  soft  tones  of  her  voice  soothed  him,  and  he 
answered :  "  I  would  not  have  allowed  her  to  believe  I 
intended  marrying  her.  I  did  not  tell  her  in  words  that  I 
would,  but —  I  can't  tell  you.  I  can't  speak."  He  saw  Rita's 
face  turn  pale,  and  though  his  words  almost  choked  him,  he 
continued,  "  I  suppose  I  must  pay  the  penalty  of  my  sin." 

He  gently  put  the  girl  from  him,  and  went  to  the  window, 
where  he  leaned,  gazing  into  the  street.  She  also  rose,  and 
stood  waiting  for  him  to  speak.  After  a  long  pause  she 
called  his  name,  — 

"  Die !  " 

When  he  turned  she  was  holding  out  her  arms  to  him, 
and  the  next  moment  they  were  round  his  neck. 

After  a  blank  hour  of  almost  total  silence  in  the  parlor, 
Miss  Tousy  came  to  the  door  and  knocked.  She  had 
listened  at  the  door  several  times  during  the  hour;  but, 
hearing  no  enlightening  words  or  sounds,  she  had  retreated 
in  good  order. 

Allowing  a  moment  to  elapse  after  knocking,  Miss  Tousy 
called :  — 

"  Are  you  still  there  ?  " 

Rita  had  been  very  still  there,  and  was  vividly  conscious 
of  the  fact  when  Miss  Tousy  knocked.  Going  to  the  door, 
Rita  opened  it,  saying  :  — 

"Yes,  we  are  still  here.  I'm  ashamed  to  have  kept  you 
out  so  long."  She  looked  her  shame  and  blushed  most 
convincingly. 

Upon  hearing  the  knock,  Die  hurried  over  to  the  window, 
and  when  Miss  Tousy  entered  he  deluded  himself  into  the 
belief  that  his  attitude  of  careless  repose  would  induce  her 
to  conclude  he  had  been  standing  there  all  the  afternoon. 
But  Miss  Tousy,  in  common  with  all  other  young  ladies, 
had  innate  knowledge  upon  such  subjects,  and  possibly  also 
a  little  experience  —  she  was  twenty-five,  mind  you  — ;  so 
she  was  amused  rather  than  deceived. 


WISE    MISS   TOUSY  327 

"Well?"  she  asked,  and  paused  for  answer. 

"Yes,"  answered  Rita. 

They  understood  each  other,  if  we  do  not,  for  Miss 
Tousy  kissed  Rita  and  then  boldly  went  to  Die  and  delib 
erately  kissed  him.  Thereupon  Rita  cried,  "  Oh  !  "  Die 
blushed,  and  all  three  laughed. 

"  But  I'll  leave  you  to  yourselves  again,"  said  accommo 
dating  Miss  Tousy.  "I  know  you  want  to  be  alone." 

"  Oh,  we  are  through,"  answered  Rita,  blushing,  and  Die 
reluctantly  assented.  Miss  Tousy  laughed  and  asked  :  — 

"  Through  what  ?  " 

Then  there  was  more  blushing  and  more  laughing,  and 
Rita  replied,  "Just  through — that's  all." 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Miss  Tousy,  taking 
Rita's  hand,  "  and  am  very  happy  that  I  have  been  the 
means  of  bringing  you  together  again.  Take  the  advice 
of  one  who  is  older  than  you,"  continued  Miss  Tousy,  the 
old  and  the  wise,  "  and  never,  never  again  allow  anything 
to  separate  you.  Love  is  the  sweetest  blossom  of  life, 
whose  gentle  wings  will  always  cover  you  with  the  aromatic 
harmony  of  an  everlasting  sunlight."  Rita  thought  the 
metaphor  beautiful,  and  Die  was  too  interested  to  be  critical. 
Then  Rita  and  Miss  Tousy,  without  any  reason  at  all,  began 
to  weep,  and  Die  felt  as  uncomfortable  as  the  tears  of  two 
women  could  make  him. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   GIFT 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 

DIG  started  home  with  his  heart  full  of  unalloyed 
happiness ;  but  at  the  end  of  four  hours,  when  he 
was  stabling  his  horse,  the  old  pain  for  the  sake 
of    another's   sorrow   asserted   itself,    and   his   happiness 
seemed   to   be   a   sin.      Rita's   tender   heart   also   under 
went  a  change  while  she  lay  that  night  wakeful  with  joy 
and  gazing  into  the  darkness. 

Amid  all  her  joy  came  the  ever  recurring  vision  of 
Sukey's  wretchedness.  While  under  the  convincing  influ 
ence  of  her  own  arguments  and  Die's  resistless  presence, 
she  had  seen  but  one  side  of  the  question,  —  her  own  ;  but 
darkness  is  a  great  help  to  the  inner  sight,  and  now  the 
other  side  of  the  case  had  its  hearing.  She  remembered 
Sukey's  letter  to  Tom,  but  she  knew  the  unfortunate  girl 
loved  Die.  Was  it  right,  she  asked  herself  over  and  over 
again,  was  it  right  that  she  should  be  happy  at  the  cost  of 
another's  woe  ?  Then  came  again  the  flood  of  her  great 
longing  —  the  longing  of  her  whole  life  —  and  she  tried  to 
tell  herself  she  did  not  care  who  suffered,  she  intended  to 
be  happy.  That  was  the  way  of  the  world,  and  it  should 
be  her  way.  But  Rita's  heart  was  a  poor  place  for  such 
thoughts  to  thrive,  and  when  she  arose  next  morning,  after 
a  sleepless  night  of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow,  she  was 
almost  as  unhappy  as  she  had  been  the  previous  morning. 
She  spent  several  days  and  nights  alternating  between  two 
opinions;  but  finally,  after  repeated  conversations  with  Miss 


332  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Tousy,  whose  opinions  you  already  know,  and  after  medi 
tating  upon  Sukey's  endeavor  to  entrap  two  men,  she 
arrived  at  two  opposing  conclusions.  First,  it  was  her 
duty  to  give  Die  up ;  and  second,  she  would  do  nothing 
of  the  sort.  That  was  the  first,  and  I  believe  the  only 
selfish  resolve  that  ever  established  itself  in  the  girl's 
heart  with  her  full  knowledge  and  consent.  But  the 
motive  behind  it  was  overpowering.  She  shut  her  lips 
and  said  she  "  didn't  care,"  and  once  having  definitely 
settled  the  question,  she  dismissed  it,  feeling  that  she  was 
very  sinful,  but  also  very  happy. 

Die,  of  course,  soon  sought  Billy  Little,  the  ever  ready 
receptacle  of  his  joys  and  sorrows. 

No  man  loved  the  words,  "  I  told  you  so,"  more  dearly 
than  Little,  and  when  Die  entered  the  store  he  was  greeted 
with  that  irritating  sentence  before  he  had  spoken  a  word. 

"  You  told  me  what  ? "  asked  Die,  pretending  not  to 
understand. 

"  Come,  come,"  returned  Billy,  joyously,  "  I  see  it  in 
your  face.  You  know  what  I  mean.  Don't  try  to  appear 
more  thick-headed  than  you  are.  Oh,  perhaps  you  are 
troubled  with  false  modesty,  and  wish  to  hide  the  light  of 
a  keen  perception.  Let  it  shine,  Die,  let  it  shine.  Hide 
it  not.  Avoid  the  bushel." 

Die  laughed  and  said :  "  Well,  you  were  right ;  she  did 
forgive  me.  Now  please  don't  continue  to  point  out  your 
superior  wisdom.  I  see  it  without  your  help.  Get  thee 
a  bushel,  Billy  Little,  lest  you  shine  too  brightly." 

"  No  insolence,  young  man,  no  insolence,"  retorted  Billy, 
with  a  face  grave  and  serious,  save  for  a  joyful  smile  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Close  the  store  door,  Billy  Little,"  said  Dick,  after  a 
few  minutes  of  conversation,  "  and  come  back  to  the  room. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  The  conceit  of  some  people  !  "  replied  the  happy  mer- 


THE    CHRISTMAS    GIFT  333 

chant.  "  So  you  would  have  me  close  my  emporium  for 
the  sake  of  your  small  affairs  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Die. 

"Well,  nothing  wins  like  self-conceit,"  answered  Billy. 
"  Here's  the  key.  Lock  the  front  door,  and  I'll  be  with 
you  when  I  fold  this  bolt  of  India  silk." 

Die  locked  the  door,  Billy  finished  folding  the  India 
silk  —  a  bolt  of  two-bit  muslin,  —  and  the  friends  went  into 
the  back  room. 

How  sweet  it  is  to  prepare  one's  self  deliberately  for 
good  news !  Billy,  in  a  glow  of  joy,  lighted  his  pipe, 
moved  his  chair  close  to  the  fireplace,  for  the  day  was 
cold,  and  gave  the  word  of  command  —  "Go  ahead!" 

Die  told  him  all  that  had  happened  in  Miss  Tousy's 
parlor,  omitting,  of  course,  to  mention  the  blank  hour,  and 
added :  "  I  had  a  letter  from  Rita  this  morning,  and  she 
feels  as  I  do,  that  we  are  very  cruel;  but  she  says  she 
would  rather  be  selfish  and  happy  than  unselfish  and 
miserable,  which,  as  you  know,  is  not  at  all  true.  She 
couldn't  be  selfish  if  she  were  to  try." 

"Good  little  brain  in  that  little  head,"  exclaimed  Billy. 
"  There  never  was  a  better.  But,  as  you  say,  she's  wrong 
in  charging  herself  with  selfishness.  I  believe  she  has  more 
common  sense,  more  virtue,  more  tenderness,  gentleness, 
beauty,  and  unselfishness  than  any  other  girl  in  the  world." 

Dick  laughed,  very  much  pleased  with  his  friend's  com 
ments  upon  Rita.  "  I  believe  you  are  in  love  with  her 
yourself." 

The  shaft  unintentionally  struck  centre  and  Billy's  scalp 
blushed  as  he  haltingly  remarked,  "Well,  I  suppose  you're 
right."  Then  after  a  long  pause  —  "  Maxwelton's  braes, 
urn,  urn,  urn."  Another  long  pause  ensued,  during  which 
Billy  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  against  the  wall 
of  the  fireplace,  poked  the  back-log,  and  threw  on  two  or 
three  large  pieces  of  wood. 


334  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  he  said,  chuckling  with 
laughter,  "  that  I  was  almost  in  love  with  her  at  one  time. 
She  was  so  perfect  —  had  the  same  name,  face,  and  dis 
position  of  —  of  another  that  —  Jove  !  I  was  terribly 
jealous  of  you." 

"  Nonsense,"  answered  Die,  with  a  great  pleased  laugh. 

"  Of  course  it  was  nonsense.  I  knew  it  then  and  know 
it  now ;  but  when,  let  me  ask  you,  had  nonsense  or  any 
other  kind  of  sense  anything  to  do  with  a  man  falling  in 
love  ? " 

"  I  think  it  the  most  sensible  thing  a  man  can  do," 
answered  Die,  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  cup  of  youth. 

"  Has  it  made  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  no." 

"  But  mostly  no  ?  "  responded  the  cynic. 

"  Yes,  Billy  Little,  so  far  it's  been  mostly  no ;  but  the 
time  will  come  when  I  will  be  very  happy  because  of  it." 

"  Not  if  you  can  help  it.  We  will  see  how  it  turns  out 
in  the  end." 

"  Billy  Little,  you  are  the  greatest  croaker  I  ever  knew," 
observed  Die,  testily. 

"  It  is  better  to  croak  early  than  to  sing  too  soon.  But 
what  do  you  want  ? " 

"  I  want  to  know  again  what  I  shall  do  about  Sukey 
since  this  new  change  in  Rita.  When  I  thought  Rita  was 
lost  to  me,  I  fear  I  permitted  Sukey  to  believe  I  would, 
you  know,  comply  with  her  wishes ;  but  now  I  can't,  and 
I  don't  know  how  to  tell  her  about  it.  I  said  nothing,  but 
my  silence  almost  committed  me." 

After  a  moment  spent  in  thought,  Billy  answered : 
"  Frederick  the  Great  used  to  say,  '  In  default  of  unan 
swerable  arguments  it  is  better  to  express  one's  self  laconi 
cally  and  not  go  beating  about  the  bush.'  Go  tell  her." 

"  That's  easier  to  advise  than  to  do,"  retorted  Die. 
"She  will  cry,  and  —  " 


THE    CHRISTMAS    GIFT  335 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  if  it  were  as  easy  to  do  as  it  is  to  advise, 
this  would  be  a  busy  world.  She  will  cry,  and  a  woman's 
tears  hurt  the  right  sort  of  man.  But  bless  my  soul,  Die, 
why  don't  you  settle  your  own  affairs?  I'm  tired  of  it 
all.  It's  getting  to  trouble  me  as  much  as  it  troubles 
you."  Billy  paused,  gazing  into  the  fire,  and  dropped 
into  a  half-revery.  "  I  can  see  the  poor  little  dimpler 
weeping  and  grieving.  I  can  hear  her  sobs  and  feel  her 
heartaches.  She  is  not  good;  but  the  fault  is  not  hers, 
and  I  wish  I  might  bear  her  pain  and  suffer  in  her  stead. 
I  believe  it  hurts  me  more  to  see  others  suffer  than  to  suf 
fer  myself.  I  wish  I  might  bear  every  one's  suffering  and 
die  on  a  modern  Calvary.  What  a  glorious  thought  that 
is,  Die — the  Master's  vicarious  atonement!  Even  if  the 
story  be  nothing  but  a  fable,  as  some  men  claim,  the 
thought  is  a  glorious  one,  and  the  fate  —  ah,  the  fate  — 
but  such  a  fate  is  only  for  God.  If  I  can't  help  the  suf 
fering  of  the  world,  I  wish  I  might  live  in  the  midst  of 
Sahara,  where  I  could  not  hear  of  human  pain.  It  hurts 
me,  Die.  Indeed  it  does.  And  this  poor  little  dimpler 
—  I'm  sorry,  I'm  sorry." 

"  Ah,  Billy  Little,  think  of  my  sorrow,"  said  Dick. 

"  It's  a  question  whether  we  should  shrink  from  our 
troubles  or  face  them,"  continued  Little;  "  but  in  your  case 
I  should  choose  the  shrinking,  and  write  to  the  poor,  pa 
thetic  little  dimpler.  Poor  thing !  Her  days  of  dimpling 
are  over.  If  you  knew  that  you  had  led  her  astray,  your 
duty,  I  believe,  would  be  clear ;  but  there  is  the  '  if '  that 
gives  us  serious  pause  and  makes  cowards  of  us  both. 
Write  to  her,  Die.  You  are  too  great  a  coward  to  face  her, 
and  I'm  not  brave  enough  even  to  advise  it." 

Die  wrote  to  Sukey,  and  avoided  the  pain  of  facing  her, 
but  not  the  pain  of  knowing  that  she  suffered.  His  letter 
brought  an  answer  from  Sukey  that  was  harder  to  bear 
than  reproaches. 


336  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

Within  two  or  three  days  Sukey  wrote  to  Rita,  whom 
she  knew  to  be  the  cause  of  Die's  desertion.  The  letter 
to  Rita,  like  the  one  to  Die,  contained  no  word  of  reproach. 
"  I  do  not  blame  you  for  keeping  him,"  she  said  in  clos 
ing.  "  He  has  always  belonged  to  you.  I  hope  you  will 
be  happy  and  not  trouble  yourselves  about  me.  No  one 
knows  about  this  terrible  affair,  Rita,  but  you  and  Die, 
and  I  hope  you  will  tell  nobody.  Especially,  please, 
please,  don't  tell  Tom.  This  is  the  only  request  I  make : 
don't  let  Tom  know  anything  about  it.  I  want  to  confess, 
Rita,  that  I  have  been  very  wicked,  and  that  Die  is  not  to 
blame.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  this,  so  that  you  may 
not  blame  him.  I  have  brought  trouble  to  you  both,  and 
it  is  as  little  as  I  should  do  to  tell  you  the  truth.  The 
fault  was  mine.  I  gave  him  a  love  powder.  But  I  loved 
him." 

Sukey's  letter  came  one  morning  four  or  five  days  before 
Christmas.  Rita  wept  all  day  over  it,  and  at  night  it  helped 
her  in  taking  a  step  that  settled  all  the  momentous  questions 
touching  Die  and  herself. 

On  the  same  fateful  day  Mr.  Bays  and  Tom  came  home 
together  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  That  unwonted 
event  was,  in  itself,  alarming.  Rita  was  reading  near  the 
window,  and  her  mother  was  knitting  before  the  fire. 
When  our  Toms,  father  and  son,  entered  the  room,  trouble 
was  plainly  visible  upon  their  faces.  Tom  senior  threw 
his  cap  and  great  fur  coat  on  the  bed,  while  De  Triflin' 
leaned  against  the  mantel-shelf.  Drawing  a  chair  to  the 
fire,  Tom  the  elder  said :  — 

"Well,  Margarita,  I  guess  we're  ruined  —  Jim  and  me 
and  Tom  —  all  of  us.  I  see  no  earthly  way  out  of  it." 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  asked  Madam  Jeffreys,  folding  her 
knitting  and  placing  it  in  her  lap  with  great  deliberation. 
Rita  dropped  her  book,  and  went  over  to  her  father. 

"Williams,  I  suppose?"  queried  Madam  Jeffreys. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    GIFT  337 

"Yes;  he  has  had  orders  from  home  to  collect  the 
money  we  owe  the  house,  or  else  to  take  the  store,  the 
farm,  our  household  furniture,  everything,  at  once.  Will 
iams  leaves  for  home  Christmas  Day,  and  everything  must 
be  settled  before  then.  He  gives  us  till  to-morrow  noon 
to  raise  the  money.  But  that  is  not  the  worst,"  continued 
Mr.  Bays,  nervously,  rising  and  turning  his  back  to  the  fire, 
"  Tom  has  —  has  overdrawn  his  account  more  than  a  thou 
sand  dollars  in  Williams's  office.  Williams  don't  call  it 
'overdrawn.'  He  calls  it  embezzlement,  theft.  Tom  and 
me  went  to  Judge  Blackford  and  told  him  just  how  the 
money  was  taken.  The  Judge  says  Williams  is  right  about 
it ;  it  is  embezzlement,  and  Williams  says  the  firm  insists  on 
prosecuting  Tom  and  sending  him  to  the  penitentiary  if  the 
money  is  not  replaced.  God  only  knows  what  we  are  to 
do,  Margarita.  The  farm  is  mortgaged  for  its  full  value, 
and  so  far  as  I  can  see  we  are  ruined,  ruined."  Tears  began 
to  flow  over  his  cheeks,  and  Rita,  drawing  his  face  down 
to  hers,  stood  on  tiptoe  and  tried  to  kiss  the  tears  away. 

"  Let  me  go  to  see  Billy  Little,"  she  said  in  desperation. 
"  He  will  lend  us  the  money  ;  I  know  he  will." 

"  Like  h —  he  will,"  cried  gentle  Tom.  "  Die  asked 
him  to  loan  me  enough  money  to  pay  my  overdraft  —  said 
he  would  go  on  the  note  —  but  he  refused  point  blank; 
said  the  twenty-three  hundred  dollars  he  loaned  father  and 
Uncle  Jim  Fisher  was  all  the  money  he  had.  The  miserly 
old  curmudgeon ! " 

Mrs.  Bays  went  weeping  to  Tom's  side.  "Poor  Tom, 
my  dear,  dear  son,"  she  whimpered,  trying  to  embrace  him. 

Dear  son  roughly  repulsed  her,  saying:  "There's  no 
need  to  go  outside  of  our  family  for  help.  If  Rita  wasn't 
the  most  selfish,  ungrateful  fool  alive,  she'd  settle  all  our 
troubles  by  one  word." 

"  Would  you  have  me  sell  myself,  Tom  ? "  asked  the 
ungrateful  sister. 


338  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

"  Of  course  I  would  ! !  sell  yourself  ! !  rot ! !  You'd  be 
getting  a  mighty  good  price.  There's  lots  better-looking 
girls  'en  you  would  jump  at  the  chance.  Sell  yourself? 
Ain't  Williams  a  fine  gentleman  ?  Where's  another  like 
him  ?  Ain't  he  rich  ?  Ain't  he  everything  a  girl  could 
want  in  a  man  —  everything  but  a  green  country  clod 
hopper  ? " 

"  All  that  may  be  true,  Tom,  but  I  can't  marry  him.  I 
can't,"  returned  Rita,  weeping  and  sobbing  in  her  father's 
arms. 

"  Can't  you,  Rita  ? "  asked  Mr.  Bays.  "  All  that  Tom 
says  about  him  is  true,  every  word.  Williams  is  good 
enough  for  any  girl  in  the  world  but  you.  No  man  is 
that.  You  would  soon  forget  Die." 

"  No,  no,  father,  never,  never,  in  all  my  life." 

"  And  you  would  soon  learn  to  like  Williams,"  continued 
the  distracted  father.  "  Please,  Rita,  try  to  do  this  and 
save  me  and  Tom." 

"  She  shall  do  it,"  cried  Madam  Jeffreys,  taking  courage 
from  the  knowledge  that  at  last  her  husband  was  her  ally. 
She  went  to  Rita  and  pulled  her  from  her  father's  arms. 
"  She  shall  do  it  or  go  into  the  street  this  very  night,  never 
to  enter  my  house  again.  I'll  never  speak  to  her  again  if 
she  don't.  It  will  pain  me  to  treat  my  own  flesh  and  blood 
so  harshly,  but  it  is  my  duty  —  my  duty.  I  have  toiled  and 
suffered  and  endured  for  her  sake  all  my  life,  and  it  will 
almost  kill  me  to  turn  against  her  now ;  but  if  she  don't 
save  her  father  and  brother,  I  surely  will.  God  tells  me  it 
is  my  duty.  I  do  not  care  for  myself.  I  have  eaten  husks 
all  my  life,  ever  since  I  got  married,  and  I  can  die  eating 
them ;  but  for  the  sake  of  my  dear  husband  and  my  dear 
son  who  bears  his  own  father's  name,  it  is  my  duty,  God  tells 
me  it  is  my  duty  to  spurn  her.  It  is  but  duty  and  justice ; 
and  justice  to  all  is  my  motto.  It  was  my  father's  motto." 
She  was  a  wordy  orator,  but  her  vocabulary  was  limited ; 


THE    CHRISTMAS    GIFT 


339 


and  after  several  repetitions  of  the  foregoing  sentiments, 
she  turned  from  oratory  to  anatomy.  "  Oh,  my  heart," 
she  cried,  placing  her  hand  upon  her  breast,  "  I  believe  I 
am  about  to  die." 

She  sank  gasping  into  the  chair,  from  which  she  had 
risen  to  hurl  her  Philippic  at  Rita's  head,  and  by  sheer 
force  of  her  indomitable  will  caused  a  most  alarming 
pallor  to  overspread  her  face.  Rita  ran  for  the  camphor, 
Mr.  Bays  fetched  the  whiskey,  and  under  these  restoratives 
Madam  Jeffreys  so  far  recovered  that  her  husband  and  son 
were  able  to  remove  her  from  the  chair  to  the  bed.  Rita, 
in  tribulation  and  tears,  sat  upon  the  bedside,  chafing  her 
mother's  hands  and  doing  all  in  her  power  to  relieve  the 
sufferer. 

"  Don't  touch  me,  ungrateful  child,"  cried  Mrs.  Marga 
rita,  "  don't  touch  me!  If  you  won't  save  your  father  and 
brother  from  ruin  when  you  can,  you  are  not  fit  to  touch 
your  mother.  I  am  dying  now,"  she  continued,  gasping 
for  breath.  "  Because  of  your  cruelty  and  ingratitude, 
the  blow  has  been  more  than  God,  in  His  infinite  mercy, 
has  given  me  strength  to  endure.  When  I  am  gone,  you 
will  remember  about  this.  I  forgive  you ;  I  forgive  you." 
Sigh  followed  sigh,  and  Rita  feared  she  had  killed  her 
parent. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  will  do  what  you  wish. 
Ah,  no,  I  can't.  I  can't  do  it.  Don't  ask  me." 

"  Beg  her,  father,  beg  her,"  whispered  Mrs.  Bays  to  her 
spouse  when  she  saw  that  Rita  was  wavering.  Bays  hesi 
tated;  but  a  look  from  the  bed  brought  him  to  a  proper 
condition  of  obedience  :  — 

"  Rita,  won't  you  save  your  father  and  brother  ? "  he 
asked,  taking  his  daughter's  hands  in  his  own.  "  We  are 
all  ruined  and  disgraced  and  lost  forever  if  you  do  not. 
Rita,  I  beg  you  to  do  this  for  my  sake." 

The  father's  appeal  she  could  not  withstand.     She  cov- 


340  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

ered  her  face  with  her  hands ;  then,  suddenly  drawing 
herself  upright  and  drying  her  tears,  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  I  will." 

Those  two  little  words  changed  the  world  for  father 
and  son  from  darkness  to  light  They  seemed  also  to 
possess  wonderful  curative  powers  for  heart  trouble,  for 
within  three  minutes  they  snatched  my  Lady  Jeffreys 
from  the  jaws  of  death  and  placed  her  upright  in  the  bed. 
Within  another  minute  she  was  on  her  feet,  well  and 
hearty  as  ever,  busily  engaged  evolving  a  plan  for  immedi 
ate  action. 

"Write  to  Williams  at  once,"  she  said  to  Rita,  "asking 
him  to  call  this  evening.  Tell  him  you  want  to  talk  to 
him  about  your  father's  affairs." 

Rita  again  hesitated,  but  she  had  given  her  word,  and 
accordingly  wrote :  — 

"  MR.  WILLIAMS  :  If  not  otherwise  engaged,  will  you 
please  call  this  evening.  I  am  in  great  trouble  about  my 
father  and  Tom,  and  wish  to  talk  to  you  concerning  their 
affairs.  "RiTA." 

Tom  delivered  the  note,  which  threw  Williams  into  a 
state  of  ecstasy  bordering  on  intoxication. 

I  beg  you  to  pause  and  consider  this  girl's  piteous  con 
dition.  Never  in  all  the  eighteen  years  of  her  life  had 
she  unnecessarily  given  pain  to  a  human  heart.  A  tender, 
gentle  strength,  love  for  all  who  were  near  her,  fidelity  to 
truth,  and  purity  without  the  blemish  of  even  an  impure 
thought,  had  gone  to  make  up  the  sum  of  her  existence. 
As  a  reward  for  all  these  virtues  she  was  now  called  upon 
to  bear  the  burden  of  an  unspeakable  anguish.  What 
keener  joy  could  she  know  than  that  which  had  come  to 
her  through  her  love  for  Die  ?  What  agony  more  poign 
ant  could  she  suffer  than  the  loss  of  him  ?  But,  putting 


THE   CHRISTMAS   GIFT  341 

Die  aside,  what  calamity  could  so  blacken  the  future  for  her, 
or  for  any  pure  girl,  as  marriage  with  a  man  she  loathed  ? 
We  often  speak  of  these  tragedies  regretfully  and  care 
lessly  ;  but  imagine  yourself  in  her  position,  and  you  will 
pity  this  poor  girl  of  mine,  who  was  about  to  be  sold  to  the 
man  whom  she  despised  —  and  who,  worst  of  all,  loved 
her.  Madame  Pompadour  says  in  her  memoirs,  "I  was 
married  to  one  whom  I  did  not  love,  and  a  misfortune  still 
greater  was  that  he  loved  me."  That  condition  must  be 
the  acme  of  a  woman's  suffering. 

Williams  knocked  at  Rita's  door  early  in  the  evening, 
and  was  admitted  to  the  front  parlor  by  the  girl  herself. 
She  took  a  chair  and  asked  him  to  be  seated.  Then  a  long, 
awkward  silence  ensued,  which  was  broken  by  Williams  :  — 

"  You  said  you  wished  to  see  me.  Is  there  any  way  in 
which  I  can  serve  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  speaking  with  difficulty.  "  My 
father  and  Tom  are  in  trouble,  and  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if 
anything  could  be  done  to  —  to—  "  she  ceased  speaking, 
and  in  a  moment  Williams  said :  — 

"  I  have  held  the  house  off  for  four  or  five  months,  and 
I  cannot  induce  them  to  wait  longer.  Their  letters  are 
imperative.  I  wish  I  had  brought  them." 

"  Then  nothing  can  save  them  ? "  asked  Rita.  The 
words  almost  choked  her,  because  she  knew  the  response 
they  would  elicit.  She  was  asking  him  to  ask  her  to  marry 
him. 

"Rita,  there  is  one  thing  might  save  them,"  replied 
Roger  of  the  craven  heart.  "  You  know  what  that  is.  I 
have  spoken  of  it  so  often  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  speak 
again."  Well  he  might  be. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  Go  on,"  said  Rita,  without  a  sign  of 
faltering.  She  wanted  to  end  the  agony  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  If  you  will  marry  me,  Rita  —  you  know  how  dearly  I 
love  you ;  I  need  not  tell  you  of  that.  Were  you  not  so 


342  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

sure  of  my  love,  I  might  stand  better  with  you.  You  see, 
if  you  will  marry  me  my  father  could  not,  in  decency, 
prosecute  Tom  or  ruin  your  father.  He  would  be  com 
pelled  to  protect  them  both,  being  in  the  family,  you 
know." 

"  If  you  will  release  Tom  and  save  my  father  from  ruin 
I  will  .  .  .  will  do  ...  as  ...  you  .  .  .  wish,"  answered 
the  girl.  Cold  and  clear  were  the  words  which  closed  this 
bargain,  and  cold  as  ice  was  the  heart  that  sold  itself. 

Williams  stepped  quickly  to  her  side,  exclaiming  delight 
edly,  "  Rita,  Rita,  is  it  really  true  at  last? " 

He  attempted  to  kiss  her,  but  she  held  up  her  hand 
warningly. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  till  I  am  your  wife.  Then  I  must 
submit.  Till  then  I  belong  to  myself." 

"  I  have  waited  a  long  time,"  answered  this  patient  suitor, 
"  and  I  can  wait  a  little  longer.  When  shall  we  be  mar 
ried  ? " 

"  Fix  the  time  yourself,"  she  replied. 

"  I  am  to  leave  Christmas  morning  by  the  Napoleon 
stage  for  home,  and  if  you  wish  we  may  be  married  Christ 
mas  Eve.  That  will  give  you  four  days  for  preparation." 

"As  you  wish,"  was  the  response. 

"  I  know,  Rita,  you  do  not  love  me,"  said  Williams,  ten 
derly. 

"  You  surely  do,"  she  interrupted. 

"  But  I  also  know,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  can  win  your 
love  when  you  are  my  wife.  I  know  it,  or  I  would  not  ask 
you  to  marry  me.  I  would  not  accept  your  hand  if  I  were 
not  sure  that  I  would  soon  possess  your  heart.  I  will  be 
so  loving  and  tender  and  your  life  will  be  so  perfect  —  so 
different  from  anything  you  have  ever  known  —  that  you 
will  soon  be  glad  you  gave  yourself  to  me.  It  will  not  be 
long,  Rita,  not  long." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  answered  with  her  lips; 


THE   CHRISTMAS    GIFT  343 

but  in  her  heart  this  girl,  who  was  all  tenderness  and  love, 
prayed  God  to  strike  him  dead  before  Christmas  Eve 
should  conic. 

Williams  again  took  his  chair,  but  Rita  said,  "I  have 
given  you  my  promise.  I  — I  am  — I  fear  I  am  ill. 

Please  excuse  me  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  and and 

leave  me,  I  beg  you." 

Williams  took  his  leave,  and  Rita  went  into  the  sitting 
room,  where  father,  mother,  and  Tom  were  waiting  for  the 
verdict. 

"  You  are  saved,"  said  Rita,  as  if  she  were  announcing 
dinner. 

"My  daughter!  my  own  dear  child!  God  will  bless 
you !  "  exclaimed  the  tender  mother,  hurrying  to  embrace 
the  cause  of  her  joy. 

"  Don't  touch  me  !  "  said  Rita.  "  I  —  I  —  God  help  me  ! 
I  —  I  fear  —  I  —  hate  you."  She  turned  to  the  stairway 
and  went  to  her  own  room.  For  hours  she  sat  by  the 
window,  gazing  into  the  street,  but  toward  morning  she 
lighted  a  candle  and  told  Die  the  whole  piteous  story  in  a 
dozen  pages  of  anguish  and  love. 

After  receiving  Sukey's  letter,  Die  left  home  for  a  few 
days  to  engage  horses  to  take  east  with  him  in  the  spring. 
He  did  not  return  until  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
before  Christmas. 

On  the  morning  of  that  day  —  the  day  before  Christmas 
—  Jasper  Yates,  Sukey's  father,  came  to  Billy  Little's  store 
in  great  agitation.  Tom  Bays  had  been  there  the  day 
before  and  had  imparted  to  Billy  the  news  of  Rita's  forth 
coming  wedding.  She  had  supposed  that  Die  would  tell 
him  and  had  not  written ;  but  Die  was  away  from  home 
and  had  not  received  her  letter. 

I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  overpowering  grief  this 
announcement  brought  to  the  tender  bachelor  heart.  It 


344  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

stunned  him,  crushed  him,  almost  killed  him ;  but  he  tried 
to  bear  up  manfully  under  the  weight  of  his  grief.  He 
tried,  ah,  so  hard,  not  to  show  his  suffering,  and  Max- 
welton's  braes,  was  sung  all  day  and  was  played  nearly 
all  night ;  but  the  time  had  come  to  Billy  when  even  music 
could  not  soothe  him.  There  was  a  dry,  hard  anguish  at  his 
heart  that  all  the  music  of  heaven  or  of  earth  could  not 
soften.  Late  in  the  night  he  shut  his  piano  in  disgust  and 
sat  before  the  fire  during  the  long  black  hours  without  even 
the  comfort  of  a  tear. 

When  Tom  imparted  the  intelligence  of  Rita's  wedding, 
he  also  asked  Billy  for  a  loan  of  four  hundred  dollars.  As 
an  inducement,  he  explained  that  he  had  forged  the  name 
of  Mr.  Wallace  to  a  note  calling  for  that  sum,  and  had 
negotiated  the  note  at  an  Indianapolis  bank.  Rita's  mar 
riage  would  settle  the  Williams  theft,  but  the  matter  of  the 
forgery  called  for  immediate  adjustment  in  cash.  Billy 
refused  the  loan ;  but  he  gave  Tom  fifty  dollars  and  advised 
him  to  leave  the  state. 

"  If  you  don't  go,"  said  Billy,  savagely,  "you  will  be  sent 
to  the  penitentiary.  Rita  can't  marry  every  one  you  have 
stolen  from.  What  did  you  do  with  the  money  you  stole 
from  me — Die's  money?  Tell  me,  or  I'll  call  an  officer 
at  once.  I'll  arrest  you  myself  and  commit  you.  I'm  a 
justice  of  the  peace.  Now  confess,  you  miserable  thief." 

Tom  turned  pale,  and,  seeing  that  Billy  was  in  dreadful 
earnest,  began  to  cry  :  "  There  was  five  of  us  in  that  job," 
he  whispered,  "  and,  Mr.  Little,  I  never  got  none  of  the 
money.  Con  Gagen  and  Mike  Doles  got  it  all.  I  give 
them  the  sacks  to  keep  for  a  while  after  I  left  the  store. 
They  promised  to  divide,  but  they  run  away  soon  after 
wards,  and  of  course  we  others  were  afeared  to  peach.  I 
didn't  know  you  knowed  it.  Con  Gagen  put  me  up  to  it." 

"  Well,  I  do  know  it.  I  recognized  you  when  you 
climbed  out  the  window,  and  did  not  shoot  you  because  you 


THE    CHRISTMAS    GIFT  345 

were  Rita's  brother.  I  said  nothing  of  the  robbery  for  the 
same  reason,  but  I  made  a  mistake.  Leave  my  store.  Get 
out  of  the  state  at  once.  If  you  are  here  Christmas  Day, 
I'll  send  you  where  you  belong." 

Tom  took  the  fifty  dollars  and  the  advice ;  and  the  next 
day  —  the  day  before  Christmas,  the  day  set  for  Rita's 
wedding  —  Sukey's  father  entered  Billy's  store,  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  in  great  agitation. 

After  Yates  had  talked  to  Billy  for  three  or  four  min 
utes,  the  latter  hurriedly  closed  the  store  door,  donned  the 
Brummel  coat,  and  went  across  the  road  to  the  inn  where 
the  Indianapolis  coach  was  waiting,  and  took  his  place. 

At  six  o'clock  that  evening  Die  arrived  at  Billy  Little's 
store  from  his  southern  expedition.  Finding  the  store  door 
locked,  he  got  the  key  from  the  landlord  of  the  inn,  in 
whose  charge  Billy  had  left  it,  went  to  the  post-office,  and 
rejoiced  to  find  a  letter  from  Rita.  He  eagerly  opened  it 
—  and  rode  home  more  dead  than  alive.  Rita's  wedding 
would  take  place  that  night  at  eight  o'clock.  The  thing 
was  hopeless.  He  showed  the  letter  to  his  mother,  and 
asked  that  he  might  be  left  alone  with  his  sorrow.  Mrs. 
Bright  kissed  him  and  retired  to  her  bed  in  the  adjoining 
room,  leaving  Die  sitting  upon  the  hearth  log  beside  the 
fire. 

Die  did  not  blame  Rita.  He  loved  her  more  dearly 
than  ever  before,  if  that  were  possible,  because  she  was 
capable  of  making  the  awful  sacrifice.  He  well  knew 
what  she  would  suffer.  The  thought  of  her  anguish 
drowned  the  pain  he  felt  on  his  own  account,  and  his  suf 
fering  for  her  sake  seemed  more  than  he  could  bear.  Billy 
Little,  he  supposed,  had  gone  to  the  wedding,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  Die's  life  he  was  angry  with  that  steadfast 
friend.  Die  knew  that  the  sudden  plunge  from  joy  to 
anguish  had  brought  a  benumbing  shock,  and  while  he 
sat  beside  the  fire  he  realized  that  his  suffering  had  only 


346  A   FOREST    HEARTH 

begun  —  that  his  real  anguish  would  come  with  the  keener 
consciousness  of  reaction. 

At  four  o'clock  that  same  afternoon  Billy  was  seated  in 
Rita's  parlor,  whispering  to  her.  "  My  dear  girl,  I  bring 
you  good  news.  You  can't  save  Tom.  He  forged  Wal 
lace's  name  to  a  note  for  four  hundred  dollars,  and  passed 
it  at  the  bank  six  weeks  ago.  He  wanted  to  borrow  the 
money  from  me  to  pay  the  note,  but  I  did  not  have  it.  I 
gave  him  fifty  dollars,  and  he  has  run  away  —  left  the 
state  for  no  one  knows  where.  He  carried  off  two  of 
Yates's  horses,  and,  best  of  all,  he  carried  off  Sukey.  All 
reasons  for  sacrificing  yourself  to  this  man  Williams  are 
now  removed,  save  only  your  father's  debt.  That,  Fisher 
tells  me,  has  been  renewed  for  sixty  days,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  your  father  and  Fisher  will  again  have 
it  to  face.  You  could  not  save  them,  Rita,  if  you  were  to 
marry  half  the  men  in  Boston.  Even  if  this  debt  were 
paid  —  cancelled  —  instead  of  renewed,  your  father  would 
soon  be  as  badly  off  as  ever.  A  bank  couldn't  keep  him 
in  business,  Rita.  Every  one  he  deals  with  robs  and  cheats 
him.  He's  a  good  man,  Rita,  kind,  honest,  and  hard  work 
ing,  but  he  is  fit  only  to  farm.  I  hate  to  say  it,  but  in 
many  respects  your  father  is  a  great  fool,  very  much  like 
Tom.  It  is  easier  to  save  ten  knaves  than  one  fool.  A 
leopard  is  a  leopard ;  a  nigger  is  a  nigger.  God  can 
change  the  spots  of  the  one  and  the  color  of  the  other,  but 
I'm  blessed  if  I  believe  even  God  can  unmake  a  fool. 
Now  my  dear  girl,  don't  throw  away  your  happiness  for 
life  in  a  hopeless  effort  to  save  your  father  from  financial 
ruin." 

"  But  I  have  given  my  word,  Billy  Little,"  replied  the 
girl,  to  whom  a  promise  was  a  sacred  thing.  "  I  believe 
my  father  and  mother  would  die  if  I  were  to  withdraw. 
I  must  go  on,  I  must;  it  is  my  doom.  It  is  only  three 
hours  —  oh,  my  God!  have  mercy  on  me  — "  and  she 


THE   CHRISTMAS    GIFT  347 

broke  down,  weeping  piteously.  Soon  she  continued: 
"The  guests  are  all  invited,  and  oh,  I  can't  escape,  I 
can't!  I  have  given  my  word;  I  am  lost.  Thank  you, 
dear  friend,  thank  you,  for  your  effort  to  help  me ;  but  it 
is  too  late,  too  late !  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  too  late,"  continued  Billy;  "but  in  three 
hours  it  will  be  too  late,  and  you  will  curse  yourself  because 
you  did  not  listen  to  me." 

"  I  know  I  shall ;  I  know  it  only  too  well,"  replied  the 
weeping  girl.  "  I  will  not  ask  you  to  remain  for  the  —  the 
tragedy." 

"  I  would  not  witness  it,"  cried  Billy,  "for  all  the  gold 
in  the  world !  When  I'm  gone,  Rita,  remember  what  I've 
said.  Do  not  wait  until  it  is  too  late,  but  come  with  me ; 
come  now  with  me,  Rita,  and  let  the  consequences  be 
what  they  will.  They  cannot  be  so  evil  as  those  which 
will  follow  your  marriage.  You  do  not  know.  You  do 
not  understand.  Come  with  me,  girl,  come  with  me.  Do 
not  hesitate.  When  I  have  left  you,  it  will  be  too  late,  too 
late.  God  only  can  help  you ;  and  if  you  walk  open-eyed 
into  this  trouble,  He  will  not  help  you.  He  helps  those 
who  help  themselves." 

"  No,  Billy  Little,  no ;  I  cannot  go  with  you.  I  have 
given  my  word.  I  have  cast  the  die." 

With  these  words  Billy  arose,  took  up  his  hat,  stick,  and 
gloves,  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  opened  the  front  door 
to  go. 

"  When  I'm  gone,  Rita,  remember  what  I  have  said  and 
what  I'm  about  to  say,  and  even  though  the  minister  be 
standing  before  you,  until  you  have  spoken  the  fatal 
words,  it  will  not  be  too  late.  You  are  an  innocent  girl, 
ignorant  of  many  things  in  life.  Still,  every  girl,  if  she 
but  stops  to  think,  has  innate  knowledge  of  much  that 
she  is  supposed  not  to  know.  When  I'm  gone,  Rita,  think, 
girl,  think,  think  of  this  night ;  this  night  after  the  cere- 


348  A    FOREST   HEARTH 

mony,  when  all  the  guests  have  gone  and  you  are  alone 
with  him.  Kill  yourself,  Rita,  if  you  will,  if  there  is  no 
other  way  out  of  it  —  kill  yourself,  but  don't  marry  that 
man.  For  the  sake  of  God's  love,  don't  marry  him. 
Death  will  be  sweet  compared  to  that  which  you  will 
suffer  if  you  do.  Good-by,  Rita.  Think  of  this  night, 
girl;  think  of  this  night." 

"  Good-by,  Billy  Little,  good-by,"  cried  the  girl,  while 
tears  streamed  over  her  cheeks.  As  she  closed  the  door 
behind  him  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
moaned  :  "  I  cannot  marry  him.  How  can  I  kill  myself  ? 
How  can  I  escape  ? " 

Meanwhile  Madam  Jeffreys  had  donned  her  black  silk 
dress,  made  expressly  for  the  occasion,  and  was  a  very 
busy,  happy  woman  indeed.  She  did  not  know  that  Tom 
had  run  away,  but  was  expecting  him  home  from  Blue  by 
the  late  stage,  which  would  arrive  about  seven  o'clock. 

Billy  left  for  home  on  the  five  o'clock  stage,  but  before 
he  left  he  had  a  talk  with  Rita's  father. 

Soon  after  Billy's  departure,  Miss  Tousy  and  a  few 
young  lady  friends  came  to  assist  at  the  bride's  toilet.  It 
was  a  doleful  party  of  bridesmaids  in  Rita's  room,  you 
may  be  sure ;  but  by  seven  o'clock  she  was  dressed.  When 
the  task  was  finished,  she  said  to  her  friends :  — 

"  I  am  very  tired.  I  have  an  hour  before  the  ceremony, 
and  I  should  like  to  sit  alone  by  the  window  in  the  dark 
to  rest  and  think.  Please  leave  me  to  myself.  I  will  lock 
the  door,  and,  Miss  Tousy,  please  allow  no  one  to  disturb 
me." 

"  No  one  shall  disturb  you,  my  dear,"  answered  Miss 
Tousy,  weeping  as  she  kissed  her.  Then  the  young 
ladies  left  the  room,  and  Rita  locked  the  door. 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Bays  entered  from  Tom's  room, 
which  was  immediately  back  of  Rita's.  A  stairway  de 
scended  from  Tom's  room  to  the  back  yard. 


HKKK,'  KKI'I.IKD  THE  CIRI.." 


THE    CHRISTMAS    GIFT  35I 

Mr.  Bays  kissed'  Rita,  and  hastily  whispered :  "  My 
great-coat,  cap,  and  gloves  are  on  Tom's  bed.  Buck  is 
saddled  in  the  stable.  Don't  ever  let  your  mother  know  I 
did  this.  Good-by.  I  would  rather  die  than  see  you  marry 
this  man  and  lose  Die.  Don't  let  your  mother  know,"  and 
he  hurried  from  the  room. 

Rita  went  hurriedly  into  Tom's  room  and  put  on  the 
great-coat,  made  of  coonskins,  a  pair  of  squirrel-skin 
gloves,  and  a  heavy  beaver  cap  with  curtains  that  fell 
almost  to  her  shoulders.  She  also  drew  over  her  shoes  a 
pair  of  heavy  woollen  stockings ;  and  thus  arrayed,  she  ran 
down  the  stairway  to  the  back  yard.  Hurrying  to  the 
stable,  she  led  out  "  Old  Buck,"  Mr.  Bays's  riding  horse,  and 
galloped  forth  in  the  dark,  cold  night  for  a  twenty-six  mile 
ride  to  Billy  Little. 

Soon  after  Rita's  departure  the  guests  began  to  assemble. 
At  ten  minutes  before  eight  came  Williams.  Upon  his 
arrival,  Mrs.  Bays  insisted  that  Rita  should  be  called,  so 
she  and  Miss  Tousy  went  to  Rita's  door  and  knocked. 
The  knock  was  repeated ;  still  no  answer.  Then  Mrs.  Bays 
determined  to  enter  Rita's  room  through  Tom's,  —  and  I 
will  draw  a  veil  over  the  scene  of  consternation,  confusion, 
and  rage  that  ensued. 

Near  the  hour  of  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  another 
scene  of  this  drama  was  enacted,  twenty-six  miles  away. 
Billy  Little  was  roused  from  his  dreams — black  night 
mares  they  had  been  —  by  a  knocking  on  his  store  door, 
and  when  he  sat  up  in  bed  to  listen,  he  heard  Rita's  voice 
calling  :  — 

"  Billy  Little,  let  me  in." 

Billy  ran  to  unlock  the  front  door,  crying :  "  Come  in, 
come  in,  God  bless  my  soul,  come  in.  Maxwelton's  braes 
are  bonny,  bonny,  bonny.  Tell  me,  are  you  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Billy,  I'm  alone,  and  I  fear  they  will  follow  me. 


352  A    FOREST    HEARTH 

Hide  me  somewhere.  But  you'll  freeze  without  your  coat. 
Go  and  —  " 

"  Bless  me,  I  haven't  my  coat  and  waistcoat  on.  Excuse 
me  ;  excuse  —  Maxwelton's  —  I'll  be  out  immediately." 
And  the  little  old  fellow  scampered  to  his  bedroom  to 
complete  his  toilet.  Then  he  lighted  a  candle,  placed 
wood  on  the  fire,  and  called  Rita  back  to  his  sanctum 
sanctorum.  She  was  very  cold ;  but  a  spoonful  of  whiskey, 
prescribed  by  Dr.  Little,  with  a  drop  of  water  and  a  pinch 
of  sugar,  together  with  a  bit  of  cheese  and  a  biscuit  from 
the  store,  and  the  great  crackling  fire  on  the  hearth,  soon 
brought  warmth  to  her  heart  and  color  to  her  cheeks. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  now  you've  got  me  ? 
They  will  come  here  first  to  find  me,"  she  asked,  laughing 
nervously. 

"  We'll  go  to  Die,"  said  Billy,  after  a  moment's  medita 
tion.  "  We'll  go  to  Die  as  soon  as  you  are  rested." 

"  Oh,  Billy  Little,  I  —  I  can't  go  to  him.  You  know 
I'm  not  —  not  —  you  know." 

"  Not  married  ?     Is  that  what  you  mean  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  I'm  mighty  thankful  you  are  not.  Die's  mother  is 
with  him.  It  will  be  all  perfectly  proper.  But  never 
mind ;  I  have  another  idea.  I'll  think  it  over  as  we 
ride." 

After  Rita  had  rested,  Billy  donned  the  Beau  Brummel 
coat  and  saddled  his  horse,  and  the  pair  started  up  Blue 
to  awaken  Die.  He  needed  no  awakening,  for  he  was 
sitting  where  we  left  him,  on  the  hearth,  gazing  into  a  bed 
of  embers. 

When  our  runaway  couple  reached  Die's  house,  Billy 
hitched  his  horse,  told  Rita  to  knock  at  the  front  door,  and 
took  her  horse  to  the  stable. 

When  Die  heard  the  knock  at  that  strange  hour  of  the 
night,  he  called  :  — 


THE   CHRISTMAS   GIFT  353 

"  Who's  there  ?  " 

"  Rita." 

Die  began  to  fear  his  troubles  had  affected  his  mind ; 
but  when  he  heard  a  voice  unmistakably  hers  calling,' 
"  Please  let  me  in ;  I  have  brought  you  a  Christmas  gift," 
he  knew  that  he  was  sane,  and  that  either  Rita  or  her 
wraith  was  at  the  door.  When  she  entered,  clad  in  her 
wedding  gown,  coonskin  coat  and  beaver  cap,  he  again 
began  to  doubt  his  senses  and  stood  in  wonder,  looking  at 
her. 

"Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  Die?"  she  asked,  laughing. 
Still  he  did  not  respond,  and  she  continued,  "  I  have  ridden 
all  night  to  bring  you  a  Christmas  gift." 

"  A  Christmas  gift  ?  "  he  repeated,  hardly  conscious  of  the 
words  he  spoke,  so  great  had  been  the  shock  of  his  awaken 
ing  from  a  dream  of  pain  to  a  reality  of  bliss.  "  Where 
—  where  is  it?" 

"  Here,"  replied  the  girl,  throwing  off  the  great-coat  and 
pressing  her  hands  upon  her  bosom  to  indicate  herself. 
Then  Dick,  in  a  flood  of  perceptive  light  and  returning 
consciousness,  caught  the  priceless  Christmas  gift  to  his 
heart  without  further  question. 

In  a  moment  Billy  Little  entered  the  door  that  Rita  had 
closed. 

"  Here,  here,  break  away,"  cried  Billy,  taking  Rita  and 
Die  each  by  the  right  hand.  As  he  did  so  Die's  mother 
entered  from  the  adjoining  room,  and  Billy  greeted  her  with 
"  Howdy,"  but  was  too  busy  to  make  explanations. 

"  Now  face  me,  "  said  that  little  gentleman,  speaking  in 
tones  of  command  to  Rita  and  Die. 

"Clasp  your  right  hands."  The  hands  were  clasped. 
"  Now  listen  to  me.  Diccon  Bright,  do  you  take  this  woman 
whom  you  hold  by  the  hand  to  be  your  wedded  wife?" 

Die's  faculties  again  began  to  wane,  and  he  did  not  an 
swer  at  once. 

2A 


354  A   FOREST   HEARTH 

"  The  answer  is,  '  I  do,'  you  stupid,"  cried  Billy,  and  Die 
said,  "I  do." 

"  Do  you,  Rita  Fisher  Bays,  —  Margarita  Fisher  Bays, 

—  take  this  man  whom  you  hold  by  the  right  hand  to  be 
your  husband  ?  " 

Rita's  faculties  were  in  perfect  condition  and  very  alert, 
so  she  answered  quickly,  "  I  do." 

"Then,"  continued  our  worthy  justice  of  the  peace,  "by 
virtue  of  authority  vested  in  me  by  the  laws  of  the  state 
of  Indiana,  I  pronounce  you  husband  and  wife.  I  kiss  the 
bride." 

After  kissing  Rita,  and  shaking  hands  with  Die  and  Mrs. 
Bright,  Billy  hurried  out  through  the  door,  and  the  new- 
made  husband  and  wife  watched  him  as  he  mounted  and 
rode  away.  He  was  singing  —  not  humming,  but  singing 

—  at   his  topmost  pitch,  "  Maxwelton's  braes  are  bonny, 
where  early  falls  the  dew."     He  had  never  before  been 
known  to  complete  the  stanza.     His  voice  could  be  heard 
after  he  had  passed  out  of  sight  into  the  forest,  and  just 
as  the  sun  peeped  from  the  east,  turning  the  frost  dust  to 
glittering  diamonds  and  the  snow-clad  forest  to  a  paradise 
in  white,  the  song  lost  itself  among  the  trees,  and  Die,  clos 
ing  the  door,  led  Rita  to  his  hearth  log. 


Dorothy   Vernon   of   Haddon   Hall 

By   CHARLES  MAJOR 

Author  of  "  When  Knighthood  Was  in  Flo*wer,"  etc. 

With  eight  full-page  illustrations  by  HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 

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"  Dorothy  Vernon  is  an  Elizabethan  maid,  but  a  living,  loving,  lovable 
girl.  .  .  .  The  lover  of  accuracy  of  history  in  fiction  may  rest  contented  with 
the  story  ;  but  he  will  probably  care  little  for  that  once  he  has  been  caught 
by  the  spirit  and  freshness  of  the  romance." —  The  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Dorothy  is  a  splendid  creation,  a  superb  creature  of  brains,  beauty, 
force,  capacity,  and  passion,  a  riot  of  energy,  love,  and  red  blood.  She  is  the 
fairest,  fiercest,  strongest,  tenderest  heroine  that  ever  woke  up  a  jaded  novel 
reader  and  made  him  realize  that  life  will  be  worth  living  so  long  as  the 
writers  of  fiction  create  her  like.  .  .  .  The  story  has  brains,  'go,'  virility, 
gumption,  and  originality."  —  The  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Dorothy  is  a  fascinating  character,  whose  womanly  whims  and  cunning 
ways  in  dealing  with  her  manly,  honest  lover  and  her  wrathful  father  are 
cleverly  portrayed.  The  interest  is  maintained  to  the  end.  Some  might  call 
Dorothy  a  vixen,  but  she  is  of  that  rare  and  ravishing  kind  who  have  tried 
(and  satisfied)  men's  souls  from  the  days  of  Mother  Eve  to  the  present  time." 

—  The  New  York  Herald. 

"  A  romance  of  much  delicacy,  variety,  strength,  and  grace,  in  which  are 
revealed  the  history  of  four  lovers  who  by  their  purely  human  attributes  are 
distinct  types."  —  Evening  Journal  News,  Evansville. 

"As  a  study  of  woman,  the  incomprehensible,  yet  thoroughly  lovable, 
Dorothy  Vernon  clearly  leads  all  recent  attempts  in  fiction.  Dorothy  is  a 
wonderful  creature." — Columbus  Evening  Dispatch. 

"Dorothy  is  a  feminine  whirlwind,  very  attractive  to  her  audience  if 
somewhat  disconcerting  to  her  victims,  and  the  story,  even  in  these  days  when 
romance  has  become  a  drug,  makes  good  reading." — New  York  Life. 


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The  Bears  of  Blue  River 

By  CHARLES   MAJOR 

Author  of  " Dorothy  Vernon  of  Haddon  Hall"  etc. 

WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   A.    B.    FROST    AND    OTHERS 

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"  The  book  is  thoroughly  healthy,  and  it  is  infused  through  and 
through  with  the  breath  of  the  forests.  It  is  a  delightful  book  to  read." 
—  Charleston  Sun-News. 

"  The  book  is  especially  adapted  to  boys,  but  the  well-rounded  style 
of  the  author,  combined  with  a  little  natural  history,  makes  it  at  once 
interesting  and  instructive  to  young  and  old  alike."  —  Plymouth  Weekly. 

"  This  is  not  a  mere  '  boy's  book  ' ;  it  is  a  work  of  art,  appealing  to 
the  most  cultured  reader."  —  Christian  World. 

"  Though  the  story  may  have  been  written  for  boys,  it  is  even  better 
fun  for  older  people  and  sportsmen,  as  a  well-written,  spirited  book  of 
so  strenuous  a  life."  —  Literary  World. 


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2 


The  Mettle  of  the  Pasture 


By  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

Author  of  "The  Choir  Invisible,"  UA  Kentucky  Cardinal," 
etc.,  etc. 

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" '  The  Mettle  of  the  Pasture '  contains  more  characters  and  a 
greater  variety  of  them,  it  has  more  versatility,  more  light  and  shade, 
more  humor,  than  any  of  his  previous  books.  The  story,  too,  is  wider 
in  scope  and  the  central  tragedy  draws  irresistibly  to  it.  ... 

"  '  The  Mettle  of  the  Pasture '  is  a  novel  of  greatness ;  it  is  so  far 
Mr.  Allen's  masterpiece  ;  a  work  of  beauty  and  finished  art.  There 
can  be  no  question  of  its  supreme  place  in  our  literature ;  there  can 
be  no  doubt  of  its  wide  acceptance  and  acceptability.  More  than  any 
of  his  books  it  is  destined  to  an  enviable  popularity.  It  does  not  take 
extraordinary  prescience  to  predict  an  extraordinary  circulation  for  it." 
—  JAMES  MACARTHUR  in  a  review  in  the  August  Reader. 

"  It  may  be  that '  The  Mettle  of  the  Pasture '  will  live  and  become  a 
part  of  our  literature  ;  it  certainly  will  live  far  beyond  the  allotted  term 
of  present-day  fiction.  Our  principal  concern  is  that  it  is  a  notable 
novel,  that  it  ranks  high  in  the  entire  range  of  American  and  English 
fiction,  and  that  it  is  worth  the  reading,  the  re-reading,  and  the  con 
tinuous  appreciation  of  those  who  care  for  modern  literature  at  its 
best."  —  The  Boston  Transcript. 

"  In  '  The  Mettle  of  the  Pasture '  Mr.  Allen  has  reached  the  high- 
water  mark  thus  far  of  his  genius  as  a  novelist.  The  beauty  of  his 
literary  style,  the  picturesque  quality  of  his  description,  the  vitality, 
fulness,  and  strength  of  his  artistic  powers  never  showed  to  better  ad 
vantage.  ...  Its  reader  is  fascinated  by  the  picturesque  descrip 
tions,  the  humor,  the  clear  insight,  and  the  absolute  interest  of  his 
creations."  —  The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 


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The  Call  of  the  Wild 

By  JACK  LONDON 

Author  of  "  The  Children  of  the  Frost,"  etc.,  etc. 

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All  those  who  have  read  it  believe  that  JACK  LONDON'S  new  story,  "  The  Call  of 
the  Wild,"  will  prove  one  of  the  half-dozen  memorable  books  of  1903.  This  story 
takes  hold  of  the  universal  things  in  human  and  animal  nature;  it  is  one  of  those 
strong,  thrilling,  brilliant  things  which  are  better  worth  reading  the  second  time  than 
the  first.  Entertaining  stories  we  have  in  plenty;  but  this  is  something  more  —  it  is 
a  piece  of  literature.  At  the  same  time  it  is  an  unforgetable  picture  of  the  whole 
wild,  thrilling,  desperate,  vigorous,  primeval  life  of  the  Klondike  regions  in  the  years 
after  the  gold  fever  set  in.  It  ranks  beside  the  best  things  of  its  kind  in  English 
literature. 

The  tale  itself  has  for  its  hero  a  superb  dog  named  Buck,  a  cross  between  a 
St.  Bernard  and  a  Scotch  shepherd.  Buck  is  stolen  from  his  home  in  Southern  Cali 
fornia,  where  Judge  Miller  and  his  family  have  petted  him,  taken  to  the  Klondike, 
and  put  to  work  drawing  sledges.  First  he  has  to  be  broken  in,  to  learn  "  the  law 
of  club  and  fang."  His  splendid  blood  comes  out  through  the  suffering  and  abuse, 
the  starvation  and  the  unremitting  toil,  the  hardship  and  the  fighting  and  the  bitter 
cold.  He  wins  his  way  to  the  mastership  of  his  team.  He  becomes  the  best  sledge 
dog  in  Alaska.  And  all  the  while  there  is  coming  out  in  him  "  the  dominant  primor 
dial  beast." 

But  meantime,  all  through  the  story,  the  interest  is  almost  as  much  in  the  human 
beings  who  own  Buck,  or  who  drive  him,  or  who  come  in  contact  with  him  or  his 
masters  in  some  way  or  other,  as  in  the  dog  himself.  He  is  merely  the  central  figure 
in  an  extraordinarily  graphic  and  impressive  picture  of  life. 

In  none  of  his  previous  stories  has  Mr.  LONDON  achieved  so  strong  a  grip  on  his 
theme.  In  none  of  them  has  he  allowed  his  theme  so  strongly  to  grip  him.  He  has 
increased  greatly  in  his  power  to  tell  a  story.  The  first  strong  note  in  the  book  is 
the  coming  out  of  the  dog's  good  blood  through  infinite  hardship;  the  last  how  he 
finally  obeyed  "  the  call  of  the  wild  "  after  his  last  and  best  friend,  Thornton,  was 
killed  by  the  Indians. 

It  has  been  very  greatly  praised  during  its  serial  run,  Mr.  MABIE  writing  in  The 
Outlook  of  "  its  power  and  its  unusual  theme.  .  .  .  This  remarkable  story,  full  of 
incident  and  of  striking  descriptions  of  life  and  landscape  in  the  far  north,  contains  a 
deep  truth  which  is  embedded  in  the  narrative  and  is  all  the  more  effective  because  it 
is  never  obtruded." 


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People  of  the  Whirlpool 

From  the  Experience  Book  of  a  Commuter's  Wife 

By  the  Author  of 
"  The  Garden  of  a.  Commuter's  Wife  " 

With  Eight  Full-page  Illustrations 
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*'  The  book  is  in  every  way  a  worthy  companion  to  its  very  popular 
predecessor."  —  The  Churchman. 

"  Altogether  the  story  is  fascinating,  holding  the  attention  with  its 
charm  of  narrative  and  its  pictures  of  real  life." 

—  Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

"  The  whole  book  is  delicious,  with  its  wise  and  kindly  humor,  its 
just  perspections  of  the  true  values  of  things,  its  clever  pen  pictures  of 
people  and  customs,  and  its  healthy  optimism  for  the  great  world  in 
general."  —  Philadelphia  Telegraph. 


Anne  Carmel 

By  GWENDOLEN  OVERTON 
Author  of  "The  Heritage  of  Unrest" 

With  Illustrations  by  ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 
Cloth  I2H10  $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  uncommon  beauty  and  depth  ...  in  every  way  an  un 
usual  book."  —  Louisville  Times. 

"  One  of  the  few  very  important  books  of  the  year." 

—  The  Sun,  New  York. 

"  Is  so  far  above  the  general  run  of  the  fiction  of  to-day  as  to  be 
strongly  attractive,  just  because  of  this  contrast,  but  it  is,  for  itself, 
something  to  move  heart  and  brain  to  quick  action  and  deep  admira 
tion." —  Nashville  American. 


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The  Heart  of  Rome 

By   F.    MARION    CRAWFORD 

Author  of  "  Saracinesca,"   "  In  the  Palace  of  the   King," 
"Cecilia,"  "Ave  Roma  Immortalis,"  etc. 

Cloth        12010        $1.50 

This  striking  title  is  perfectly  descriptive  of  the  book.  Mr.  Crawford, 
who  has  studied  Rome  in  all  its  phases  and  has  been  writing  novels  and 
serious  books  about  it  for  twenty  years,  has  undertaken  to  put  "  the 
heart  of  Rome  "  into  his  latest  novel.  Many  authors  have  undertaken 
to  do  this,  but  in  almost  every  case  the  result,  however  it  may  have  been 
praised  for  various  features,  has  been  adjudged  in  the  end  unsatisfac 
tory.  The  author  of  "  Saracinesca  "  has  here  written  his  strongest  and 
best  work;  a  novel  in  which,  around  an  absorbing  love  story,  are  de 
scribed  the  manifold  elements  that  go  to  make  up  the  whole  of  the 
Eternal  City  as  it  exists  at  the  present  time.  It  is  said  by  those  who 
have  read  the  story  that  it  will  stand  as  a  picture  of  Roman  and  Italian 
life  without  a  peer.  Mr.  Crawford  has  been  living  in  Italy  most  of  the 
year  in  order  to  be  close  to  the  atmosphere  and  the  life  of  the  city 
which  he  has  here  depicted. 


The  Literary  Sense 

By  E.  NESBIT 

Author  of  "  The  Red  House,"  "  The  Would-Be-Goods,"  etc. 
Cloth        i2mo        $1.50 

This  is  a  collection  of  very  clever  and  original  short  stories,  by  an 
author  whose  work  has  attracted  much  favorable  attention  here  and  in 
England.  The  stories  deal  with  lovers'  meetings,  partings,  misunder 
standings  or  reconciliations.  They  are  little  tragedies  or  little  come 
dies,  and  sometimes  both.  The  situations  are  strong  and  ingeniously 
conceived,  and  each  tale  has  a  turn  or  twist  of  its  own.  There  is 
throughout  a  quiet  vein  of  humor  and  a  light  touch  even  where  the  situ 
ation  is  strained.  In  a  way  the  stories  are  held  together,  because  most 
or  all  of  them  have  a  bearing  on  the  idea  which  is  set  forth  in  the  first 
story  —  the  one  that  gives  the  book  its  title.  In  that  story  the  girl  loses 
her  lover  because,  instead  of  acting  simply  and  naturally,  she  tries  to  act 
as  if  she  were  in  a  book,  to  follow  her  "  literary  sense  " ;  in  other  words, 
she  has  something  of  the  same  temperament  that  distinguished  Mr. 
Barrie's  "  Sentimental  Tommy."  This  idea  appears  and  reappears  in 
the  other  stories,  notably  in  that  called  "  Miss  Eden's  Baby,"  which  in 
its  way  is  a  little  masterpiece. 


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On  the  We-a  Trail 

By  CAROLINE  BROWN 

Author   of   "  Knights    in   Fuatian  " 
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This  story  incidentally  portrays  the  vicissitudes  and  the  lives  of  the 
American  pioneers  in  the  "  Great  Wilderness,"  as  the  country  west  of 
the  Alleghames  was  generally  known.  The  capture  and  recapture  of 
Fort  Sackville,  at  Vincennes  on  the  Wabash,  are  important  features 
among  the  central  incidents. 

The  action  begins  in  mid-wilderness  and  culminates  with  the  fall  of 
the  fort  under  the  assault  of  George  Rogers  Clark.  Here  the  lovers 
are  reunited  after  months  of  separation  and  adventures.  They  were  first 
parted  by  the  savages,  who  murdered  the  heroine's  entire  family  save 
herself.  Driven  into  the  forest,  she  is  taken  captive  by  the  Indians. 
She  makes  her  escape.  Later  she  is  taken  to  the  fort  by  one  of  Ham 
ilton's  coureurs  de  hois,  and  adopted  into  the  family  of  the  comman 
dant.  The  lover  meantime  wanders  from  Kaskaskia  to  Detroit  in  pursuit 
of  the  tribe  which  has  taken  captive  his  sweetheart,  and  has  various  ad 
ventures  by  the  way,  many  of  which  take  place  on  the  famous  We-a 
Trail.  The  action  of  the  story  is  practically  confined  to  Indiana,  the 
author's  native  state;  and  it  forms  an  important  addition  to  the  increas 
ing  number  of  novels  dealing  with  the  early  life  of  that  region  of  the 
country. 

The  Black  Chanter 

and  Other  Highland  Tales 
By  NIMMO  CHRISTIE 

Cloth        i2mo       $1.50 

This  is  a  remarkable  group  of  stories  by  a  new  writer.  They  are  all 
Scotch,  and  deal  with  Scotland  at  a  remote  period  —  about  the  twelfth 
century.  All  the  tales  except  one  —  "  The  Wise  Woman,"  which  is  the 
best  of  all  —  deal  with  fighting,  and  the  pipers  appear  in  almost  all. 
They  are  stories  rather  for  men  than  for  women,  because  they  deal  with 
a  rough  time  in  a  direct  way;  but  they  are  so  clever  that  women  whom 
virility  attracts  will  like  them.  The  striking  originality  of  these  stories 
augurs  well  for  the  author's  future.  The  tales  consist  largely  in  legends, 
traditions,  and  dramatic  incidents  connected  with  the  old  life  of  Scot 
tish  clans.  Each  tale  has  at  the  end  an  unexpected  turn  or  quick  bit 
of  action,  and  these  endings  are  almost  invariably  tragic.  The  style  is 
well  suited  to  the  character  of  the  stories,  which  are  wild,  weird,  and 
queer.  They  have  a  true  imaginative  vein. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


Blount  of  Breckenhow 

By  BEULAH  MARIE  DIX 

Author  of  "  The  Making  of  Christopher  Ferringham,"  "  Soldier 
Rigdale,"  and  "  Hugh  Gwyeth  " 

Cloth       i2mo       $1.50 

Its  scene  is  laid  in  England  in  the  years  1642-45.  It  is  not  a  historical 
novel,  nor  a  romance,  nor  an  adventure  story ;  it  is  the  story  of  a  brave  man 
and  a  noble  woman  as  set  forth  in  the  letters  of  a  prosperous  family  of  York 
shire  gentry.  James  Blount,  the  hero,  comes  by  his  father's  side  of  a  race 
of  decayed  northern  gentry,  and  by  his  mother's  side  from  the  yeomanry. 
Entering  the  King's  army  as  a  private  trooper,  he  wins  a  commission ;  but 
he  never  wins  social  recognition  from  his  brother  officers,  and  he  is  left 
much  alone.  He  meets  Arundel  Carewe  and  loves  her.  The  moment  when 
he  is  about  to  tell  his  love  he  learns  that  she  is  betrothed  to  his  captain,  and 
only  friend,  Bevill  Rowlestone.  Blount  keeps  silent  till  near  the  end  of  the 
story.  Meanwhile  Arundel  is  married  to  Bevill,  who  is  a  delightful  seven- 
teenth-centu.y  lover,  but  not  wholly  satisfactory  as  a  husband. 

Arundel  is  in  garrison  with  Bevill  at  a  lonely  village  through  the  first 
dreary  winter  of  their  married  life.  Bevill  neglects  what  he  has  won,  but 
Blount  in  all  honor  is  very  tender  and  thoughtful  of  her.  On  the  night  when 
Arundel's  child  is  born,  Bevill  makes  a  gross  error  of  judgment  and  shifts  a 
body  of  troops  which  exposes  his  whole  position.  He  entreats  Blount,  who 
is  his  subaltern,  to  shoulder  the  blame.  For  the  sake  of  Arundel  and  her 
child,  Blount  does  so.  The  matter  proves  very  serious.  Blount  is  tried  by 
court-martial,  publicly  degraded,  and  kicked  out  of  the  army.  All  trace  of 
him  is  lost  for  some  eighteen  months.  Then,  when  Arundel  and  her  child 
are  in  great  danger  in  their  besieged  country  house,  Blount,  who  is  serving 
again  as  a  private  trooper,  appears  and  rescues  her.  The  book  does  not 
teem  with  battle  and  violence ;  only  twice  do  the  people  in  the  story  come 
within  sound  of  the  guns. 

McTodd 

By  CUTCLIFFE  HYNE 

Author  of  "  Captain  Kettle  "  and  "  Thompson's  Progress  " 
Cloth        i2mo        $1.50 

Mr.  Cutcliffe  Hyne's  "  McTodd  "  enriches  literature  with  a  new  and  fasci 
nating  figure.  The  author  established  himself  with  his  "  Captain  Kettle " 
books,  and  he  has  made  his  popularity  considerably  more  sure  through  his 
latest  story,  "Thompson's  Progress."  McTodd,  the  engineer,  was  quite  as 
popular  a  hero  in  the  last  Captain  Kettle  book  as  that  fiery  little  sailor,  and 
Mr.  Hyne  now  makes  him  the  chief  character  in  a  better  story.  The  au 
thor's  invention  never  flags,  and  the  new  story  is  full  of  incidents  and  expe 
riences  of  the  liveliest  and  most  fascinating  kind.  Besides  drawing  a  better 
character,  the  author  has  made  his  experiences  more  like  those  of  real  peo 
ple,  and  has  constructed  a  story  which  is  well  knit,  forceful,  and  absorbing. 
He  has  outgrown  the  crudities  observable  in  his  previous  books,  and  it  is 
expected  that  his  new  creation  will  give  him  a  much  better  place  in  litera 
ture  and  will  greatly  strengthen  his  hold  on  the  popular  approval. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


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